


You're the broken one (but I'm the only one who needed saving)

by mikeginsanity (blahblahwahwah)



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Caretaking, Comfort Sex, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hypothermia, Not Canon Compliant, Not after 105, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-27 12:50:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8402395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blahblahwahwah/pseuds/mikeginsanity
Summary: In the twenty-four hours, since that godawful party, Mike has felt a spectrum of emotions from concern to jealousy.Please note I wrote this before 106.





	1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**  eye candy first. I dont' own the gifs or the pics.

* * *

 

 

Never let it be said, that he hasn’t felt this way before.

Mike can honestly say that the last time he was this terrified for a rookie (or for that matter, any player) on his team was at that one time in ’09.

The Mountain ( – who wasn’t called the Mountain yet), had just been signed on as a pitcher with the _Cardinals_ and it was Mike’s first stint as acting captain.

To this date, Mike isn’t sure what possessed him to make that call. Al had suggested the idea at first, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. Their rookie batter, a twenty-four-year-old Japanese kid named Hamada, who spoke English fluently enough to confidently gloat about having batted against Mount several times while at the minors, enthusiastically agreed to the plan. So, Mike didn’t find any reasons to disagree.

Hamada was confident, Al was confident, and Mike who, in his estimation, was too green as a captain to develop intuition at the time, was also confident. 

It was a decision that would probably haunt all of them for the rest of their lives.

Mike never saw the hundred-mph fastball as it cannonballed through the air as soon as it was ejected from Mount’s hands. His eyes were on the view screen, focused on Hamada at bat. He barely managed to note in that second before the ball made its way, that Hamada was making a small miscalculation while he swinging. He was too busy thinking about to how correct the rookie about the weight he applied on his front foot, when that ball to rammed straight into Hamada’s nuts –

\- and the rookie crumpled to the ground.

The ball was deemed legal. Greg Mount paid a huge fine and he voluntarily added an additional amount to cover Hamada’s rehabilitation expenses because all things said and done, Mount was an honest, decent guy regardless of the fact that nature had chosen to stick him with the face of a murderous cannibal.

Hamada – had no choice but to return to his home town in Okinawa – with a complicated fracture to his pelvic bone, that hampered his ability to stand for long.  

Mike will never, to this date, forget the superhuman rate at which his heart pounded when Hamada collapsed to the ground or that cold shiver of dread that filled his body when they realized he wasn’t moving or the numbness he felt afterwards when they were told that Hamada had a near fatal injury.

He’s had many terrifying moments on and off field before and after that – but in his opinion that was _the_ one.

 _This one though…_ it came pretty close.

 

It had been twenty-four hours since anyone’s seen her.

The problem is Mike was too fucked up in his head to care.

He was trapped in this mixture of numbness, fury and envy. Something he would never be able to explain. At some point, his idiot brain or maybe it was his dick – decided he needed to fuck it out.

So, he went binge drinking the night _after_ , ignoring Amelia’s attempts to rope him into the search party for Ginny (because apparently the most famous woman in the world, _does_ have a place to hide that her meticulous agent can’t sniff out).

(Technically, he’s cheating on Amelia – but - in his pissass defence, in case anyone’s asking- it’s Amelia’s fault).

Amelia was so caught up with her frantic search operation and a ‘where’s my little girl?’ guiltfest that she blamed him for everything as though he was the one who forced himself into Amelia’s pussy and her life without her consent.

(So, he’s a giant dick for blaming her. Whatever. Sue him.)

He picks up the redhead because she reminds him of Rachel and he shoves away that the nagging possibility that he feels betrayed, just like he did with Rachel.

Which is (– isn’t it _just_ ?) the stupidest thing.

For some reason, he feels betrayed by Ginny Baker, though he cannot fathom on what grounds. At that point, Mike knows, that he’s the biggest hypocritical motherfucker there ever was.

But, he just can’t be fucking concerned, anymore.

It’s too much.

It was bad enough that their relationship has been strained ever since she was in the know about him and Amelia. Anyone with half a brain could connect the sudden withdrawal in her behaviour, her avoidance of his calls - the abrupt termination of their nightly chats.

It hurt. It fucking hurt.

Its selfish to think that way, but by God, he’s a human being too. He’s her goddamn captain. She’s not some little girl fawning over his poster anymore – and she should have learned that by now. He’s a full-blooded man, with needs and Baker has no right to hold the fact that he’s dating her agent against him.

(So yeah, there’s the guilt that he didn’t tell her, and the guilt of not wanting to tell her, because yes – it did feel like sleeping with a friend’s sister when you know the friend has a crush on you. And the fact that maybe you also have an iddy biddy thing that’s not quite a crush on said friend and you don’t know what to do with it because you work together.)

Whatever – fuck it! Him and Baker were supposed to be friends. Friendship is supposed to bypass these infantile boundaries.

And then _the_ pictures broke the internet.

In the twenty-four hours, since that godawful party, Mike has felt a spectrum of emotions from concern to jealousy. The image of Baker’s naked boob is something he’s certain he’ll never get out of his head.

He tells himself that he’s sick of worrying about Baker’s emotions. He’s sick of dealing with her childish snobbery. He doesn’t care that she lost a friend when Tommy was traded (and like seriously, how did that friendship happen in the first place? One minute Tommy’s being a bitch calling Baker a bitch and the next things, he’s Baker’s number one fan and bestie!). He doesn’t care about the hurt and betrayal he sees in her eyes. He’s sick of all the Baker-mania crap. He’s fed up of all the ‘feminism’. He’s sick of the fact that everyone’s constantly yapping about Baker being a woman and no one gives a fuck about  the game anymore. He’s already exhausted with apprehension at all the speeches needed just to get the boys in line, but – the worst of it all – the _worst_ \- was that he understands what his players are dealing with, too. He’s tired of having to sort out locker-room arguments and brawls. Even if they don’t mean to be jerks – they’re inevitably going to end up acting like assholes.

Mike _understands_ , lord knows, he can never look at Baker the same again.

He’s tired of playing ringmaster to a circus that he never signed up for in the first place.

He tells himself that’s why he’s disappointed with Baker.

Even though he knows it’s not.

Even though he has no right to be disappointed.

Hypocritical shitfuck he is – yessir – Mr. Mike Lawson.

 

He’s shoving it back. The anger, the despair, the conflicting mix of spite and covetousness. He channels it into groping and kissing the redhead (a little too aggressively for his usual style - but Mike doesn’t care.) She seems to get off on it, and – that mouth of hers looks like it has enough experience at sucking cock to mitigate that unbearable whirlwind of madness he feels, just until he can screw his head on straight and think rationally.

Until then - the face of _Ginnsanity_ or Baker-Mania or whatever it was - could take a hike.

 

 

 

Redhead Barbie giggles as he jumps out of the cab, laughing with her. He pays the driver and is just about to grab his new friend’s arm to help her out when – when he something catches his eye.

 _Baker_.

She’s sitting on the steps outside the main gate that lead up to his driveway.

He blinks twice. He’s had liquor induced hallucinations in the past. (Rachel, specifically). He shakes his head to ensure he’s not projecting anything from his subconscious.    

But, then his Rookie wobbles up, trying to stand.

The bright glow of the gate-lights do not illuminate a pretty picture.

She looks wearied. Her hair is wildly strewn about. Her eyes are hollow. Her face is pale. She’s still wearing that dress from the party. The party - _last_ night. A full day ago. Mike’s scans down her shift and he notices that she’s clutching her the straps of her pumps in her hand – the heels are broken. Her unsteady bare feet shift on the sandstone steps.

“Geez Baker!” He snorts sarcastically, thinking out loud on behalf of his booze-smashed brain. “Did you _walk_ all the way here?”

 “I –“ Her voice is a hoarse squeak. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

The faint rattle of chattering teeth hit his ears. Her eyes look defeated and glassy. The glowing bronze complexion of her skin looks dull and darker – almost purple. Her full lips look thin and chapped and - stained with a darker hue - like indigo.

Her glassy eyes search his stunned face. Her voice is icy – like the glacial chill that’s seeped into the air from that cold wave.

“I’m malfunctioning.” She says, in an unfeeling, mechanical voice.

Mike doesn’t move.

It’s only then, that Mike realizes that while he’s standing there blinking, comfortably wrapped up in his woolens which barely manage to repel the chilly climate, he’s gaping at his Rookie, quaking obscenely where she stands, grabbing the side wall for support in 4-degree weather, with no protective clothing on.

And.

She’s turning blue.

_Fuck._

She takes one step towards him...

...and wobbles.

“Baker! Wait!”

Later, he will congratulate himself, for traversing the distance _and_ managing to peel off his coat – all in record time, _just_ quick enough, to reach his arms out and catch her as she buckles.

He doesn’t know if it’s a burst of energy or that instant shot of fear that has him. For that instant, he’s reminded of that feeling in his chest, when Hamada sank to the ground out there on that field. His mind connects with that fear. The thundering his chest, the blood rushing to his ears – the same apprehensive thought running on repeat: _please don’t be dead. Please don’t let dead._

_Please don’t be dead._

He hisses when her skin meets his hands. It’s like someone just threw a block of ice at him without warning. He wraps his coat around her as her limp body slumps into him. His knees and back complain as he stumbles under her weight but the fear and adrenaline are just enough to power his muscles to keep her standing.

He impulsively claps his hand over her face. His nerve endings singing from the stone-cold texture he feels contrary to the exquisite, warm complexion that he sees. The wintry chill in the air hits his palm.

“Shit! Fuck! shit!” He mutters. “Baker, Ginny! Talk to me!”

He half-sighs, and half cries out in relief, when her head moves.

“Mike.” She whispers, brassily - his name sounding like a plea. “I’m malfunctioning.”

He doesn’t know what that means, he doesn’t even know what to do. He grapples at his jacket and trying to reach for his phone to call 911, but there’s a familiar electronic sound distracting him.

A camera sound. A click.

Mike looks at Redhead Barbie standing there, with her phone extended out, aimed at Ginny. The taxi is no longer there. He foolishly wonders when it drove away.

“That’s Ginny Baker, right?” Redhead Barbie giggles, in a drowsy, drunken nasal voice.

The icy climate is nothing compared to the cold anger that Mike feels in that moment. He finds, just enough, gentleness within to ease Ginny down, to seat her back on the step. He pulls his muffler out, wrapping it around blue tinged ears and leans her against the wall. 

Then, he marches towards the other woman and grabs her wrist with ferocity he’s never used on a female. She squeals in pain and the phone drops, pattering near his feet. Mike slams his foot on the device, hearing the screen crunch under his boot.

“What is your name?” He bites out.

“Sandy…” She whines, looking up at him in justified fear.

“Call my agent – he’ll arrange to get you a new phone.” He bites out, in a cold, trembling voice.

“Ow! That hurts!” She whimpers, twisting out her hand.

“Not as much as what I’m going to do to you if you breathe a word about what you saw to anyone.” He growls.

Mike has never in his life threatened a woman. No cause has ever been motivating enough.

He’ll probably get into a shit-load of trouble, tomorrow, but he will deal with it. He pulls out a wad of cash and throws it at her. The leaves of money smack her face and flutter around like glitter falling from a pinada. He points her in the direction of the main street.

“Find a cab.” He orders. “And get the fuck away from my house!”

 

 

He’s dealt with a fair share of hypothermia to know what’s happening. There’s not enough time to call 911. He decides to call for help, _after_ he gets her warmed up.

He feels the early stings of the biting cold on his fingers when he punches in the key that opens the smaller man-sized door of his gate. She’s still clutching those wrecked shoes as though they’re some source of warmth. He snatches them away from her and tosses them, before he ducks to pick her up.

The shaking bundle wrapped in his woollies that is Ginny Baker wriggles against him, attempting to push him off as he hauls her up.

“Y-y-your knees.” Her hears through the clatter of her chattering teeth. “O-Old-Old Man!”

He snorts out a laugh that gives him just enough energy to slide his arm under her thighs. His arm is covered by fabric, but the dry chill from the skin of her thigh soaks through.

It scares him.

Mike anticipates that his back and knees are going to give him hell the next day, the minute he hoists her up. He refuses to think about it, when he cradles her all the way from the gate to the guest bathroom on the ground floor.

The tub in that guest bathroom is smaller, but it must make do. Mike has _neither_ the time or the core body strength to carry her upstairs.

She’s just coherent enough to balance her weight, making it easier on him. But, that only lasts as long. As soon as he sets her feet inside the tub, her knees give way. His back cracks in protest as he jerks forward, holding her up by her armpits, breaking her fall. He grunts as he kneels with her weight, making her sit.

“Fuck! Fuck!” He exclaims in disbelief, looking at her. _She didn’t even take her coat._

 _And whose fault is that?_ A nagging voice sounding like a hybrid of Amelia and Blip questions him, inside his brain.

He peels her out of his coat and muffler, tossing them to the far corner of the bathroom – his heart clenching at the pitiful sight of her drawing her knees up, hugging them tight, her whole body trembling as she scoots towards the opposite wall, crouching into herself.

Like a beaten abused animal.

“I’m sorry.” He says, and starts unbuttoning his shirt with one hand, using the other to hurriedly clog the drain with the stopper, and then to set the shower temperature before he yanks the lever.

There’s some bite to her shriek and moan as the water hits her. Mike takes some comfort in it, because spineless compliance to his actions would terrify him on a level that he’s not prepared to face.

He doesn’t bother with niceties as when he rises to his full height, undressing. Her frightened eyes meet his thought the curtain of rain in the shower, blinking away droplets. Mike strips down to his boxers and tosses his bundled, dampened clothes with the pile of woolens that he’d thrown away earlier.

“There’s no other way to do this, Ginny.” He says, loud enough over the roar of the shower. “I’m sorry.”

His knees make him growl, when he steps into the tub. She’s still shaking so miserably that he isn’t sure if she’s scared of him or if it is still the hypothermia. He doesn’t have time to coddle her now. He sits on the edge, wincing when his knees smart in pain, and he reaches the clasp at the back of her neck and the zipper on her back.

A cough, sputter and moan precede pittance attempts at pushing at his chest. He ignores her resistance. She’s looking at him in horror as he starts jerking the dress off her.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He whispers, repeatedly.

She doesn’t have a bra on. But, he already knew that twenty-four hours back, when he had last seen her, completely shell-shocked by how beautiful and sexy she looked.

Now, he feels nothing when he sees brown nipples shrivelled and standing up like little rosebuds as though they had been solidified in ice. He keeps his gaze locked with her suspicious eyes, willing her to see how noble his intentions are.

She crosses her arms over her breasts as soon as he yanks her out of the cap sleeves. He settles to shove the dress half way up to her waist because she’s starting to whimper in fear and he can’t do this if she looks at him with that face of distrust.  He nods at her before he lowers himself into the tub. Steam cools over his skin as the uncomfortably warm water cuts the icy top skin.

“C’mere!” He beckons. She doesn’t fight him as much as she stays inert. He has to use all his upper body strength to haul her into an embrace.  As, he swirls his leg around her body, he loses balance and lands his ass unceremoniously on the slippery floor of the tub, with a harrumph and an ‘Oophh!”

That – seems to startle her. Somehow it becomes easier for him to drag her. He tosses his head and spits away the onslaught of the water dribbling into his eyes and mouth, tightening his hold on Ginny’s arm. She’s rigid in her fetal posture when he pulls her in, she stays that way, even when he locks his thighs and legs around her, his knees resting uncomfortably against the edges of the tub. Her back feels terrifyingly frozen when he lines it up against his chest despite the warm water. Finally, he spoons her in his embrace, resting his arms over her own as she hugs her knees. He closes his eyes and mentally wills his body warmth and the heat of the shower to penetrate through her skin.

It takes a while for her to relax. The shower rain splashes off their bodies and joins the slow filling level in the tub. By the time the water level reaches up to his thighs, she uncoils her spine and leans back into him. He takes an added step to tuck her damp head under his chin, holding her tight as he possibly can.

At any given time - if someone had told Mike that it was possibly to have a beautiful woman’s shapely ass, nestled right up against his dick in the manner that Ginny had hers – and that he would still not be aroused – he would have laughed them off.

But, his brain is working on overtime and his body is for once following its directions.

He thinks of how they got here. He thinks of Ginny as he saw her twenty-four hours ago, just before the news broke. Smiling, laughing, radiant and an elegant picture of confidence. He looks down on this tired, cold, frightened, whimpering, timid creature, slowly snuggling back into his chest.

This is his doing.

He knows it.

It’s his fault.

\--

 

It had been the start of a cold wave, sweeping down from Alaska, the night at Ginny’s endorsement party. The whole team was there, all dressed up like it was fuckin’ prom. They didn’t feel the low temperatures inside the heated lounge of the party.

He was already peeved. She maintained professional respect for him at work – so he couldn’t complain about her there, though the easy companionship, their ribbing and bantering seemed like a dream long past. Outside work, she snubbed him like he was some filthy insect. He hated it. He hated not seeing that admiration and awe in her eyes. He hated seeing the disillusionment. He didn’t know why it bothered him – he just knew he hated it.

All of that complicated by the fact that she took his breath away. The dress. It. Yep. There ought to be a Mike Lawson Award for _not_ to ogling at the top of her boobs spilling out of its scooping neckline and _not_ to appreciate the way the dress hugged her callipygian posterior (which was more than what could be said of everyone else with eyes).

And then, as fate would see to smite him, the alert popped up on his phone and lo and behold there she was on his screen. Dimples wide. Happy. Naked.  The first emotion Mike felt was a possessive rage that he couldn’t explain. He furiously tossed his head around as cell phones pinged and beeped all around him, the murmuring and whispering and snickering already in full swing.

He gritted his teeth when he zeroed in on Baker. She was standing on the red carpet, bright flashes of the camera hitting her face like lightning. She was looking up from her phone and forcing smiles for the cameras. He could tell by the way she kept her mouth stiff, and the way her throat bobbed when she swallowed that she was panicking. Her eyes were looking around, paranoid, searching for some source of security to latch on to. Amelia was nowhere to be seen.

Why he couldn’t keep that primal, jealous emotion he felt, out of his eyes, he’ll never know. Nevertheless, that was what lingered when his eyes impulsively met Baker’s brown petrified ones.

For a moment, logic calmed his mind. Stubbs and his ex-wife had been up on some insane shit on their honeymoon that was most definitely illegal in some states, let alone some countries – and those fools actually taped it. Lord knows, Mike’s been up to some kinky shit – in recent times – and he’s sure there are enough dick pics of his floating around, to raise eyebrows.

For that moment, he realized how unfair he was being to her. For that moment, he felt guilty of thinking less of her. For that moment, he remembered that his job was to see her through this storm, not attack her with it.

Until some fool nearby remarked that Trevor Davis was her partner in those photos.

Trevor fucking Davis of the _Cardinals_.  

And then Mike just shut down.

 

 ---

 

The tub is almost full and it’s short enough for him to reach a leg out and kick the shower lever off with his great toe. He pinches at the wet fabric that’s hugging her, the waist down. The dress is made of some material that feels alarmingly cold against his own thighs, so he can imagine what it must be doing to her.

 “We – we need to…” He says, his throat ironically dry while his body is wet. “We have to get this off, Baker.”

Brown eyes turn up and look at him wide. Mike feels overwhelmed – like he’s looking into the eyes of a terrified little girl. He swallows his apprehensions and hopes she’ll forgive him later.

He adjusts himself as he tugs at the dress. Ginny thankfully moves forward, her back to him, still holding her arms crossed over her breasts.

She cranes her neck backwards, like she’s checking to see if he’s peeking. It’s amusing enough for him to smile briefly. His fingertips brush with the small of her back when he hooks his finger between the fabric and her skin.  She drops her hands from her chest and helps him push it down. Mike unlocks his legs when she extends hers. He winces when he folds his knees and keeps his feet planted on either side of her. He tries not to think that her ass is perched between his feet.

The water is enough to hide the good stuff. But, it doesn’t spare him from the sharp gasp that he traps inside his throat when his fingers skim over the flare and curve of her hips as he pushes the dress down.

“I’m gonna close my eyes.” He says, in a voice that’s not quite normal. “Okay?” He leans forward to help her slide off the garment over her thighs, keeping his word. His chin knocks against her shoulder.

“It’s…fine.” She squeaks. “My boobs are public property, now.”

He doesn’t open his eyes, nonetheless.  Her voice is hoarse and barely audible – as though, the chill nipped at her vocal cords and frozen them. He snorts at the sarcasm, because it gives him some hope. At least that spitfire, feisty, tough-as-nails pitcher is still in there, somewhere.

“Not to me.” He mumbles.

He can feel her pulling her knees up as the fabric gives way. Her long fingers brush against his. Mike doesn’t have to look to know what she’s doing. He can feel the synthetic material of her panties against the heel of his palm as she pushes it down.

He leans back and slides his legs straight, parallel on either side of her, the water sloshing out. He opens his eyes only then. She’s still sitting forward, putting some distance between her butt and his crotch, her back curved forward, the water lapping in the space between them. He fishes that waterlogged dress out of the water and tosses it towards the pile of clothes at the corner. It lands half-way.  His dick twitches as the curved edge of her breast appears at her side when she pulls her fisted hand out of the water. When she forcefully flings the crumbled little thing in the same direction, using her pitching arm – and he’s thankful that she’s not sitting against him. 

She stays hunched forward and curls back into that miserable seated fetal position, keeping her knees over her chest, ducking her head to rest on her knees. It makes it easier for him to adjust himself in the tub when his aging back, hips and knee joints protest for relief.  

Mike cannot help but inwardly appreciate what a beautiful sight her back presents. Her beautiful curly hair, held down by the weight of the water, tucked forward on one shoulder. Her muscles toned and her bronze skin glossed by droplets of water. The ridges of her ribs and spinous processes of her vertebrae jutting out, attractively.

Brown – and warm – her skin. It doesn’t bear the frightening bluish hue of the cold any more. Mike will forever be grateful for that.  

“Let’s go to a hospital.” He says, watching the droplets of water shining on her skin like little diamonds.

They should go now, he reasons - there’s only so much time before the organ that takes over his thinking isn’t maybe his brain any more.

“No.” She says, snapping her head sideways, towards him. The raspy, brassy sound that barely makes it out of her throat, kicks his sense of decorum into action – a busted voice box. A constant reminder of the unnatural cold and terrible loneliness in which she wandered around for the last day because Mike was a lousy friend and a jackass.

Mike gently places his hands on her shoulders, and intuitively rubs his thumbs into the tense trapezoid muscles. She’s still rigid at first, but her shoulders roll back when he jabs his thumb into those knotty sinews.

“Baker, you nearly froze to death.” He says, softly, pinching the crook of her shoulders, on either side. “We should go and get you checked out.”

“No.” He hears. He sighs, resignedly.

She’s trembling again.

“You’re freezing.” He whispers, sitting forward, relaxing his grip and nudging her back towards him. “Come here, Rookie.”

She’s flexible enough to turn to her side, while still hugging her knees. She leans against his chest sideways and lays her head on his shoulder. Mike gathers his arms and legs around, resting his cheek against her forehead. She’s like a bundle of frozen bones and muscles wrapped inside him. When the side of her naked hip docks against his dick – he’s amazed that it’s not hardened, yet.

\-- 

 

Where her eyes darted around with alarm and horror at those around her, whenever her eyes shifted to him, her face was filled with a momentary hope. Like she was gaining solace from his approach. The photographers yelled and crammed to take a picture of them together. His agent or maybe it was the publicity rep that Amelia hired, shoved her in his direction. He inadvertently slipped his arms around her waist and did the practiced pose, looking every where - _not_ giving a fuck about smiling. She refused to meet his eyes, every time he’d look at her, she looked away.

And then, he had to go and fuck it up.

“I thought you didn’t date ballplayers.” Was the first and the only thing he said, sounding a little too harsh to himself.

Ginny’s look of disappointment hit him somewhere deep. Mike watched as her eyes welled up, and then she blinked them glistening tears away before they made it over the rims of her lashes. She looked away, cold and distant, smiling politely for the cameras. He felt her body stiffen beside him.

“And now you know why.” Her voice was emotionless.

Then, she just turned around and ran – like literally- ran away. From him.

He didn’t want to look at her again, for the rest of the night. So he didn’t. Even when Amelia came to him with that panicked, worried look that made her face look aged beyond her years.

_“Have you seen Ginny?”_

He couldn’t bring himself to look in any direction that she might be in.

Mike was too fucked up to care.

 

\--

  

The sobbing starts first. Mike feel the tears drop to his chest, later. He pulls her in closer and gently strokes her shoulders, while her body racks vehemently. Something inside him twists painfully at those strangled whimpers, she wants to scream – he can tell from the way her voice strains when she cries – but her voice has failed her.

Just like he did.

In the silence of the bathroom, with only the occasional splish-splash of water, her soft weeping feels like a deafening roar. Every now and then, she whispers – her weak voice reverberating into his skin and stabbing at his heart. The same heartbreaking words - every time.

“I don’t want to be Ginny Baker anymore.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Tommy’s petulant impulsive nature had spared Mike and his senile knees the pain and embarrassment of skirmish – Mike was terrible at skirmishes – they really weren’t his thing. If Tommy hadn’t bolted first, Mike was sure it would have been _him_ tackling Davis the day that Ginny beaned Falcone.

Baker surprised him that day, though. _Not_ because she was chomping at the bit to get beaned – _that_ – he expected of her. She surprised him - because she lost it with Davis. 

Mike knew the Mountain well enough to know that man was a textbook gentle giant. But, when Baker threw her bat to the ground and charged towards Mount, he wasn’t prepared risk have his spitfire rookie test the limits of a giant whose fastball crushed Hamada’s testicles.

Of course, the minute Davis got into Ginny’s face, there was no going back.

He knew Greg wouldn’t willingly hurt anyone but - battery mates always share a bond – and the Mountain might have stepped over that line for Davis. He wanted to tell Greg that it wasn’t necessary to keep repeating: _“I wasn’t gonna hit her Mike, I swear.”_ He believed him. But, Mike was too wrapped up in scanning the human pile of wrestling ballplayers hacking it out like hoodlums, keeping one eye on Davis moving away from the Padres and another eye on Blip pushing his plucky antsy Rookie aside.

All he could think at that moment was that he was getting too old for this shit.

He never considered that there was something seething between Davis and Baker. That, there was history there. Not until, he saw the man waiting on her after the game. Even after -  he never imagined that – it was him-

That. Trevor Davis was the man.

The man for whom she made an exception to her rule. 

Trevor fucking Davis. _Not you, Mike._

That was it. That one thought that lay at the heart of his cruelty. The one idea he wanted neither to think, nor face, nor examine. The one feeling he did not want to feel.

That Mike Lawson wasn’t the man. That someone else had gotten there before him.

It makes him a lesser person. It does. It makes him a cheap, domineering and a lecherous asshole when he thinks about it.

   

 

“What can I do?” He murmurs into her hair. His fingers get trapped in the knotted spirals of her hair. He gently combs them out. “What do you need?”

Her sobs have reduced to small sniffles.

“Ginny?” He croaks. “Tell me. Whatever it is.”

She shakes her head, rubbing her snot against his collarbone.

“I’m here, Gin.” He affirms, with all the sincerity he can find inside. “I'll do it for you, I swear. Tell me.”

Ginny sniffles and looks up at him. For what could be the longest time or maybe just a second - Mike can’t tell. He’s never had her in such a proximity before. He feels like he can get lost forever in those beautiful lonely eyes of her. She’s a package of paradoxes, that girl. So strong but with such a fragile and emotional heart. So much joy in her aura and yet she’s so sad. Irresistible and yet so isolated.

A hesitant hand comes out of the cocoon she’s made of her body. Mike leans into her fingers as she curls them gently over his beard. He captures her hand when it moves to his chin and presses his lips into it. He pecks lightly along the calluses of her fingers and kisses the hollow of her palm, inhaling the scentless skin.

She squirms to adjust herself so her face is at level with his.

There’s no mistake or doubt in Mike’s mind when her eyes drop to his mouth.

There are consequences to this. Mike knows. In the dead of night, in his dreams, in his wildest imaginations he’s thought and mulled it over a thousand times and then some. There's also the fact that she's probably not even thinking straight. There's the fact that she's broken down, vulnerable and in dire need of care. She may very well be confusing her feelings.

There are at least million reasons for him not to cross this, line. And - just one for him to step over it. 

Right now, that reason is sitting naked in his arms.

There’s only so much a man can take.

Mike curls the hand he has in Ginny’s hair to a fist and leans forward. He waits – just for that infinitesimal second to get a nod before he presses his mouth on hers. Her lips are soft and pliant. He rubs his lips over hers, placing small chaste kisses. Her sighs come out like squeaks. She kisses him back until one of them opens their mouths – he’s not sure who – and he finds her tongue.

Their kisses turn sloppy – languid and amazingly sweet. He loves kissing her, he decides right then.

Her body unwinds slowly inside his embrace. He sits up when her arms come around his shoulders and her breasts flatten up against his chest. Mike groans into her mouth, his palm raking down her back, the waters slashing against them. She pats his beard; smiling against his mouth when she runs her fingers through. She picks and plays with the hair on his chest – she scratches her fingernails through his scalp. 

The water splashes out when she moves to straddle his stomach. He brings his thighs together, allowing her knees to rest on either side.

Mike has a full-frontal view of Ginny Baker, in what he is certain is the most sexually arousing image of a naked woman he’s seen in years.

Mike thinks of a painting of a water nymph when he looks up at her. One hand fixed on the edge of the tub and the other one lightly propped on his chest. Spiral twirls of damp hair, resting on both her shoulders but they’re not even long enough to provide any coverage for those round breasts. Brown puckered erect nipples face him, the chiselled flat belly disappearing under water, just below her navel...

…he looks and looks and smiles up at her face. She blushes. Her eyelids drop.

He gingerly places his hand over her forearm – the one that’s holding onto his chest. He traces careless designs with his fingers.

There’s a powerful urge to just seize her frantically, take all of whatever she has to offer as fast as he possibly can before one of them wakes up and realize what a colossal, irreparable mistake this all is.

 

But, her words haunt him.  Her sad, lonely, desperate words.

_I don’t want to be Ginny Baker, anymore._

He doesn't know what that means. That  - she doesn't want to be Ginny Baker, the most famous woman in America. Or that - she doesn't want to be Ginny Baker - the girl who carries the weight of the world on her shoulders. Or that - she doesn't want to be Ginny Baker - his rookie, his teammate - his forbidden fruit. 

 

Mike leans forward and nudges against her breast. When he hears the hum of approval, he captures a nipple gently between his lips. He cups the soft plump underside of her breast and flicks his tongue out against the nipple. Ginny gasps. Her arm snaps up to his shoulder for support and her pelvis jerks down over his abdomen – the water getting violently displaced in the process. He hisses – when her naked sex touches his mid-section. He grabs her ass reactively, splays his fingers and digs in to keep her steady as he rubs the flat of his tongue over the nipple, running the tip around in circles.

He closes his eyes, tasting and sucking her breast. There’s no taste and yet it’s the sweetest feeling in his mouth. He opens his eyes and looks up at her face. Her head is thrown back and all he can see is the pleasing angles of her jaw, and the sculpted column of her throat, the little hollow bobbing whenever she swallows and whines. She’s moaning, as much as her hoarse voice allows.

He reaches between them, looking up at her face – moving his attention to the other breast. Her slick is warm and more viscous against the texture of the cooler water when he finds her clit. She moans when the tip of his middle finger connects with the smooth hard nub. He watches her face as he suckles her breast and stimulates her clit in tandem. She rolls her head slowly, like she’s truly – truly enjoying herself.

He’s enjoying it, too. He’s enjoying the progressive stiffening of his dick – sure. But, mostly, he’s enjoying the rush of pleasure he gets just watching her. The shy but unreserved smile that in response to his touch. He watches for every shiver, every moan, every reaction that would indicate she likes what he does.

He rolls the pad of his index over her clit in circles, traps it between two fingers and shakes his wrist. She whimpers, scrunching up her face, like she’s in deep concentration. He then strokes her gentle and easy, the water aids in sliding his fingers up and down. A hoarse, whingeing sound escapes her when he hooks his middle finger inside her. She slides down easily till he feels her folds on either side at the base of the index.

Mike sighs and kisses the space between her breasts and looks up at her, again. She’s looking down at him with darkened eyes and dilated pupils, eyebrows crossed – moving up and down, fucking his fingers. He slips the index in, gently – steadying her forward lurch with his other hand.

The water chops about, splashing out of the tub, when Ginny’s hips move more erratically over his digits.

She’s close – but, Mike’s not ready to climax her out, just yet.  There’s a whimper of protest when he pulls withdraws his fingers.

“Turn around.” He mumbles against her breastbone.

She complies. He cups her ass underwater, nestles her against the bulge in his soaked boxers. He slides a hand up over the arch of her ribcage and covers her breast. His hand looks like a giant paw, the plump round globe fitting perfectly in his palm. She likes them to be played with, he recognizes, as he pinches and rolls the nipple around, watching her body twitch.  He slides his other hand over her stomach. Her thigh snaps out even before he slides it underwater. She bucks her hips into his hand as it slides over the glabrous mound of her sex. He glides himself further down along the sloping surface into the tub – more water splashing out, taking her with him – helping her to rest her legs on the edges so he can get better access.

She arches her back up against his chest when he brushes her sensitized clit with the callused edge of his middle finger.

“Easy…” He murmurs into her ear. “Easy.”

He ghosts his mouth over her ear, batting and nipping at that smooth skin along the column of her neck. He moans when her firm ass wriggles against his erection while he toys with her clit before slipping two fingers back inside her. She snaps up her hands over the edges of the tub.

He steadies her by snaking his forearm under her breasts, holding her upper waist steady, her back sealed against his abdomen. They both bob from the weightlessness that the water affords them. He kisses her cheekbone, her cheek billowing out against his chin as she pants.

“Relax.” He mumbles.

He drags his thumb across the splayed folds of skin, delicately teasing.  “There’s no hurry.” He says. “We’ve got all the time in the world, babe, just….relax.”

She moans out a submission. He kisses her nose from the side, her strangled breathing loud in his ears, waiting until she opens her eyes. She makes a purring sound – a small smile graces her lips. When she tilts her head toward him, he kisses her again, licking and nipping at her lips as tenderly as he can, satisfied with how swollen and pink they are –  thinking of how dangerously shrunken and blue they looked just a while ago.

She sighs and breaks away from the kiss, leaning her head back on his shoulder.

Her face calms and her eyes close. It’s only when she sighs out that she’s ready, that he moves his fingers. He nuzzles his head into her shoulder, licking the water off her moist skin. A perverse sexual sensation shoots throughs him – his dick demanding attention. Mike almost bites her, when Ginny starts to twerk her hips over his hard on. There’s no way she doesn’t feel his fabric trapped dick somehow nestled between her ass cheeks. She’s probably trying to make this as good for him.

And. She’s doing a pretty fine job. Mike groans, knocks his head back against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut and nearly laughing in as waves of pleasure hit him over and over.

“You’re so beautiful, Ginny.” He murmurs. “You’re so, so, so very beautiful.”

When he turns his head to her, she’s looking at him. Talk gets her more excited. He can tell. Her pupils have blossomed out, shrouding the brown irises of her eyes.

“Does this feel good?” He asks.

She nods and chews her lower lip, her eyebrows crossing when he slowly twists his wrist, his fingers turning inside her. Her mouth opens wide in a silent ‘ _Oh’_ , a strident high-pitched sound escapes. She whimpers and adjusts herself, using the edges of the tub for support

“Do you like it?” His voice is like a raspy undertone.

Ginny looks up at the ceiling. Her eyes bulging. She swallows air deeply and nods her approval, urgently.

“Then there’s no rush.” He breathes into her ear. “Easy…easy…” He coos. “Nice and slow, Ginny. Just feel it, okay? Just…enjoy it.”

She loosens up, sluggishly against him. The new angle makes it easier for him to insinuate his fingers in and out, as unhurriedly and as carefully as he can, despite the burning urgent need building within him. He shudders when that feeling seizes the base of his spine. The snug rubdown of her ass over his hard on is enough for him to get off. He doesn’t mind if he comes right there, in his chaffing boxers. He doesn’t care if he doesn’t. His engorged dick can survive without being fucked.

This is about her. This is for her.

He doesn’t stop petting her body, or lightly skimming the fingers of his free hand over the skin of her waist and breast. He uses his thumb to roll her clit around. He observes her body as it spasms down, feels it’s impact against his knuckles, pick up a slow, lilting rhythm. He doesn’t stop planting kisses on the sides of her face, neck and shoulders. What he wouldn’t give to feel her orgasming against his tongue… he thinks…maybe if she’s up to it later, he will.

Her arm flies up. Her palm cups the back of his neck, gripping tightly for leverage as she fucks down on his fingers with more force. The water slaps around their bodies in short, choppy waves. He kisses her bicep, grabs her hand and kisses her fingers again – running his lips lightly over the callused borders.

She jangles her hand loose from his, jerks both of her arms out straight, to grip the edge of the tub. Mike watches the goosebumps that peak over her forearms with a deep sense of self-satisfaction. She starts writhing when he curves his fingers inside her, he watches her screw up her face, while her cunt tightens around the base of his fingers, in small irregular pulses. He grins, when her pelvis jerks upwards and her knees fail out. He steadies her by her waist as her back arches up, her body bows out and her eyes squeeze shut. She gasps out thrice before throbbing over his fingers. The sound so quiet, so husky, so sweet.

Then, she slumps back against him with her eyes closed, moaning, humming, giggling and smiling with satisfaction.

Mike’s been with a lot of women in his life. He’s seen a lot of women climax in a thousand different ways. But, this is by far the most beautiful orgasm he’s ever seen. 

 

 

 

He jerks awake to a weight on his chest, a feeling of being afloat and a dick that’s hard. He blinks and flails around for balance, grabbing the closest flat surface to balance the buoyant feeling in his body. Water spills out of the tub.

_The tub -?_

He looks down at that damp curly head, nuzzled into the side of his neck, her cheekbone resting over his collarbone and the excruciatingly arousing sensations of her soft breast rubbing up at down along his side and front. She’s tucked into his side, her back against the wall of the tub, one arm wrapped around his waist, and the other shoulder tucked under his armpit and he can feel the length of her arm underwater along his side. Her soft, shallow, steady breaths tickle his chest.  He delicately places his hand over her back, keeping the other one firmly gripped on the edge of the tub.

Her skin feels moist and cool but the calluses of his palm seem to warm up as soon as he touches her.  Mike moistens his dry lips and looks up at the ceiling, his eyes squinting under harshness of the light.

He looks down at her head and smiles – surprised that she wasn’t disturbed by his movements. She’s thrown a leg over his thighs, that marvellous dome of her ass bobbing up over the water level. He doesn’t restrict himself - he unabashedly grasps it, smirking to himself.

As far as fantasies coming true goes, he’s showered with her, watched her orgasm in a tub and grabbed that naked perfect pear shaped ass. If you asked him, a day earlier – he’d be pretty content with that list – he’d even help dig his grave, because he’d be just about ready to die. But – now he – he wants more. Just a little more of all of that again. The water is almost as cold as the ambient temperature – and even then, it’s not enough to curb that surge of desire within him.

The water is _cold._

“Baker!” He croaks.

She groans and shifts a little. Her arm and leg tighten around his body. Mike feels her nipples brushing against his skin and is acutely aware that the soft mound of her pussy is rubbing up against the hard edge of his hip bone. The cold drenched fabric wrapped around the skin over his erect dick makes him shiver.

“Baker!” He growls out. Hoping it’s enough to get her to stop squirming against him like that.

Which is a bad idea, if there ever was one.

She snaps up, sitting on her side, her knees digging into his thighs, the water splashing outside violently.

And there she is, looking down at him. Naked and unimaginably breathtakingly beautiful in every possible way.

He groans and shuts his eyes as his dick feels like it’s on vibrate.

_Those photos don’t seem as bad now, do they?_

He hears her gasp and fumble around. He squeezes his eyes tight and bucks his hips under the water drenching his balls till the coolness subdue his arousal. He waits it out till the water stops splashing and her embarrassed squeaks stop.  He peeks when he’s somewhat certain and then smiles at her nervously.

She’s huddled to the opposite site of the tub, curled into that fetal position, looking up at him over her knees with wide eyes.

“Yeah – I guess we…” He starts to say and then gives up. He sits up, drawing his knees to his chest, wincing at the small sparks of pain and smiles at her as reassuringly as he can. He reaches forward, noticing how she shrinks from his arm when he reaches to release the stopper. The water drains slowly. 

“You know.” He shrugs. “There’s nothing I can say, that can make this less awkward.”

She eyes him suspiciously, purses her mouth and nods. His dick finally grows a brain and calms the fuck down, just long enough for him to feel confidence about standing up.

“Stay here.” He says. “I’ll get you some towels. And blankets. God! You need blankets.”

Mike grabs the edges of the tub and groans out loud when he rises to stand. Ginny’s eyes follows his actions. That scared, suspicious look in her eyes isn’t there. She’s looking at him with a little bit of curiosity and awe.

Mike can’t think of anything funny to say so he makes a big show of flexing his bicep, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

She mums her lips tighter and ducks her chin into her knees. But - at least  - he sees those dimples pop.

 

Mike thinks of a baby giraffe when she wobbles to stand up with his help. She looks veritably exhausted and she moves like her bones are made of jelly. She clutches the oversized towel wrapped around her chest as though it’s the only thing that will protect her decency from him, constantly looking at him, skittish and nervous.

As though they hadn’t just technically-showered together, slept off in a tub or he hadn’t seen her naked….

…as though he didn’t have two fingers inside her tight li’l body, a little while ago.

He can’t blame her for feeling shy or embarrassed. He surprised why he isn’t. He didn’t exactly behave respectably with her. He’s fucked up beyond words. He’s cheated on Amelia – but that doesn’t fill him with the necessary sense of guilt that it requires – ergo, he wonders what sort of person he is. He’s fucked around with his rookie, while she was helpless and vulnerable –  not only is that sexual harassment, it makes him a creep and possibly a sex offender. He’s screwed with whatever ashes remained of their friendship and he’s probably screwed with her head. All this after he abandoned her in her greatest hour of need because of his wounded pride and she nearly froze to death out there.

If she had been physically stronger, she’d have bolted out of his house at the get-go. She ought to do that right away.   

But.

Every time he suggests the hospital or calling someone, and she stubbornly shakes her head.

Every time.

 

“Look, I’m sorry.” He rambles on, trying to distract her from the awkwardness. “I –I – I guess I got carried away. It won’t change anything. I promise you.”

He’s lying. If he’s going to get technical - they’ve crossed the bridge over the river of no fucking return. He’s also taken sexual advantage of her. If she sues him, he won’t bother contesting. He’ll happily throw away his lifetime achievements of major league baseball if that could in some way make up for how miserably he has failed her.

She nods but won’t meet his eyes.

He wraps a large blanket around her and tucks it around her neck in a way that keeps her cosy, keeps his arm around her and leads her out.

“When this is over you ought to sue me for sexual harassment.” He mutters. “I’ll know a good lawyer. He’ll sue the crap out of me.”

Her eyes snap to his in confusion. He shrugs.

She twists her mouth like she’s considering it and then shakes her head.

It doesn’t give him any relief.  

“Have you _eaten_ anything?” He asks, not finding anything else to say.

She shakes her head.

_Yeah, that doesn’t help him feel like any less of a dick either._

He makes her sit on the bed and looks down at her. “What the fuck, Baker?” He chides. “Yeah – so shit happens. Doesn’t mean you go AWOL. You didn’t even have a coat. Where were you? And _why_ haven’t you eaten?”

(Because Ginny eats – _a lot_.)

She looks up at him and he sees the tears in her eyes. “I didn’t take my purse.” She whispers, brassy tones colouring her busted voice.

And that – jolly fuck! Mike can’t even begin to imagine it. Ginny wearing that tiny dress, walking around, hungry, hurt and confused. Hypothermia might not have been the worst thing that happened to her. She could have fainted, been attacked or far worse. Mike cringes inwardly and refuses to think about it.

He also fingerfucked her before he fed her so – there’s another thing to add to the glowing list of his accomplishments as a friend. Not.

“I’m sorry.” He mutters. “I was  - I was an asshole. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. I shouldn’t have let you take off. And I…I shouldn’t have…done…” He swallows and looks away. “I shouldn’t have taken advantage.” He whispers.

He doesn’t look at her when he says those things. He can’t.

“Mike?” She says, rather quickly.

He says, still looking at a particular corner of the bed. “Yeah?”

She reaches her hand out of the blanket and touches his arm. That’s when he turns to her. She’s looking up at him with those big, lonely eyes. She slowly opens the blanket. She hesitantly reaches for the towel and opens that too.

Mike just stares at her like a creepy old fuck, completely mesmerized by her actions.  

Even though he’s spent the better part of the last two hours with her completely naked in her arms, and gone to third base, he can’t get over how beautiful she is.

Her breasts fall flat when she falls back on the bed, laying on the open towel and the blanket, her hair fanning out over the bedspread. She draws her feet up, with her thighs tightly squeezed together. He admires those svelte calves, those limber thighs - his eyes trail over the curve of her thigh merging with her the curve of her ass.

“Can…we…” She squawks out. “Can you…?”

He blinks. A lot.

“You want me to go down on you?” He says, in disbelief. (He almost follows up with another question on why she’s okay with him sexually harassing her– but thankfully his brain stalls the thought)

She moistens her mouth and nods. Her eyes are so desolate, there’s so much desire in them – he doesn’t know what to make of it.

He doesn’t fucking mind obliging her though. Consequences, be damned had been the name of the game ever since kissed her in that tub.

He pulls off the thermal he’d donned and realizes the futility of having worn it in the first place. Ginny props herself up on her elbows. Her eyes sweeping over him.

Mike’s captivated by the sight of her tits again. He pats her thigh and gestures for her to scoot up. “Knees.” He says, winking at her. She doesn’t smile though. She still looks nervous. She nods and slides upwards along the breadth of the bed.

He climbs over her and ducks his head to kiss her. She opens her mouth readily. She even licks his tongue and Mike makes out with her for a bit because he loves kissing her. She sighs and moans as he kisses his way down her body. Her thighs open obediently when he nudges them.  He cups her ass and lifts her up towards him.

She’s already wet – it’s so arousing and flattering at the same time.

He runs the tip of his tongue over her folds. He smiles in satisfaction watching her slick seep, her scent filling his nostrils. There’s a clean, citrusy taste to her. He sighs in anticipatory pleasure, he runs his tongue over her clit, in circles at first and then side to side until he needs to place her hand over her thighs to keep her still. He runs his tongue down, slipping it along her the rim of her cunt, runs his knuckles over the sensitive moist flesh. He licks and licks and licks upwards to her clit. Teasing her with his teeth, the tip of his tongue and fingers in phases. Her little moans and whimpers keep him going. Her fingers intertwining with his whenever he runs his hands up and down her body spur him to do more. Whenever he fondles her breasts or tweaks her nipples, her feels her toes curling into his shoulders. She sits up to grab his head, whenever he gets it right.

She groans out a husky, tense sound and falls back when she comes; her feet flatten over his shoulders, she releases his hair and thrusts down into his face, the upward thrust of her hips towards him. He delights it so much the first time that he keeps going. She writhes and flails – at first, but whenever he pulls his head back, to check if he’s pushing it too far, she grabs him a fistful of hair and shoves his head down between her legs. The second time takes longer, but sure enough, she comes, breathing out loud and harsh, and she cries his name with a gravelly, croaky noise – that could have been a scream if she had her voice.

Mike struggles to catch his breath at the end of it. Making Ginny orgasm is officially right at the top of his list of favourite things to do.

He lifts himself off her, wiping off her cum from his beard. She’s looking at him with that same mixture of awe and disbelief.

She points to the erection that’s straining painfully against his shorts. She sits up and reaches for the waistband. Her fingers gently skimming over his lower abdomen.  He thinks to help, almost reaches to divest himself. But then he catches a glimpse of her face. She looks sated, but she also looks so exhausted and her face doesn’t show as much enthusiasm as he would have hoped for her to perform the act. He senses she’s just doing it as formality, or to _not_ appear selfish.

He sighs. His dick will live – and he can even help himself later, if need be – but he’s not going to exert her beyond what she’s already been through.

“No.” He says, gently smiling down on her. He ducks and kisses her forehead.

“I told you,” He says, reassuringly. “This is about you. Whatever you want. Just you.” 

She frowns, but looks more relieved than offended. She hesitantly pulls her hands away. She still looks somewhat uncertain, as though she’s failing at a task that she’s supposed to fulfil.

He points to the pair of shrunken thermal pants and an old pullover that he’d placed on the bed earlier, that would work for her as clothes that he’d kept out for her. She acknowledges them with a quiet nod.

“You change.” He says, clearing his throat. “How about I whip you up something to eat?”

Her shoulders fall back and relief floods her face. That beautiful, dimpled grin appears, teeth bared wide.

“Of course, when there’s food involved you’re game, huh?” He drawls, grinning at her.

He laughs out loud when she throws a pillow at him. He catches it and throws it back at her. She hugs it, covering torso with it.  When he turns around to throw a glance at her as he leaves,  she’s sitting with her feet at the edge of the mattress, hugging the pillow, resting her chin over it, looking at him with something that resembles affection.

He breathes easier at the sight. She looks a lot like the feisty, cheerful, Ginny Baker that he knows.

And yes. Loves


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys - thanks to your reviews and all the inspiration I have actually written a lot more than I intended to.  
> apologies if there are typos.

A bright, radiant dimple smile on a dog-tired face.

 _(Total gamer._ Some wise ol’ fella with brittle bones once said. _Doesn’t matter what you throw at her, she gets right back up.)_

Mike smiles at her when she pads into his kitchen, swaddled into the blanket, holding it by the inner edges with one hand. She’s dragging her feet, taking small shuffling steps, like she’s trying not to trip of the baggy hem of his thermal pants.

“Too big?” He asks, smiling at her affectionately, pointing to the pants. She nods. He places two mugs before her - one with hot cocoa and the other with coffee.

“I didn’t know which one you’d prefer.” He says as a manner of explanation, running a hand through his hair and scratching his beard.

She opts for the cocoa with a relieved sigh, closing her eyes and sniffing in the aroma. It seems like the warmth from the drink’s fog is bringing some colour to her face. The blanket falls to her elbows when she reaches for the mug. He takes the coffee for himself and slides her a bowl of cereal and warm milk. “For now.” He says. “I’ve got a pasta baking in the oven.”

She regards him with a curious smile before she nods - as though she finds his thoughtfulness amusing. He finds it hilarious, though - the last time he ever had to ‘take care’ anyone, he was married - he’s surprised that there’s a more than one nurturing bone that survived that divorce.

When he drags the stool near her, he notices that she’s holding up the waistband of the thermals with her other hand.

“I hope you like pasta.” He murmurs, tugging the blanket open.

The cold did a solid number on her voice box. A whistling noise comes out of her when she attempts to speak. She frowns and opens her mouth, like she’s trying to hear her own voice. 

(Mike reckons he could take the credit for the rest, getting her to come, making her scream - or try to scream - herself hoarse. He smiles inwardly, thinking about it.)

His pullover looks baggy on her. It’s slouched off one shoulder. Water droplets sit on the bare crook of that shoulder, probably from that damp black, curly mane that he loves - resting tamely around her neck. Mike resists the urge to bend and lick. He’s always noted, by way of general observation that she’s got broad, rectangular shoulders, with the sculpted round margins thanks to those sturdy deltoids that power her pitches. But now, a close-up inspection gives him the impression of delicate femininity – probably something about the shape of her collarbones. He sees the stiff nipples straining at the pilled fabric – tries not to think about her perky breasts underneath. Definitely - does _not_ think about the purplish-brown colour of her nipples and most definitely does _not_ think how much he enjoyed licking them. How much _she_ enjoyed having them licked.

( _And_ – there goes his dick - up at half-mast.) Mike coughs – shifting uncomfortably at the lack of space in his shorts. He realizes he’s just staring at her dumbly and not doing anything. She seems unperturbed with his scrutiny – just keeps looking up at him, curiously – like she’s doing an inspection of her own.

“Don’t strain your voice.” He says, clearing his throat, lifting the edge of the pullover, hooking his fingers into the waistband feeling around for the drawstrings.

The skin over her flat stomach feels warm against his knuckles. He thinks about how she felt, hours ago, when she fell into his arms outside his gate. Cold – trembling – her skin like the frigid surface of a stone sculpture. Mike inwardly thanks whatever was out there watching over her. ( _Also_ – that thought puts his dick right the back in its gentlemanly place.)

She places the cup down on the counter and holds the pullover to help him.

“We should go to the hospital.” He mumbles. “Or - I have a doctor friend who makes house calls. Should I call him -?” He looks at her, hopefully.

She sighs and shakes her head.

Her finds the loops of the drawstrings and tugs till the elastic is bunched up tightly before knotting it. The sight of her slit like navel does something to his dick - _again_. He immediately thinks about the scary shade of blue she had turned, and that does the trick – _again_.

The waistband stays trapped above the jutting hipbones when he releases them. He unwittingly cups the side of her waist, splays his palms – there’s a unique fragility to the broad athletic shape of her. Her skin feels smooth and tissue thin over the firm muscles, like a freshly buffed sculpture. The tip of his thumbs reach up to her navel and the tip of his little fingers curl just over back edge of her obliques.  He’s fascinated by those measurements – and he doesn’t know why.

When he looks up at her, she’s giving him a silly smile.

Mike gives her a goofy one of his own, leans forward and kisses her nose.

When he draws back her eyes are closed – like that simple, brief action is something she legitimately likes.

He likes it, too.

 

He keeps glancing over at her while she meanders around his house as she eats. She hugs the cereal bowl to her chest like it’s the only plate of food she’ll get, hungrily scooping the cereal and stuffing it into her mouth. She roams around, eyes wide, peering at the pictures, smiling over at his trophies, chomping loudly – looking very much an inquisitive three-year-old. 

He snorts a small chuckle to himself when he pictures her at that age. (He’s seen her baby pictures on a half-hour special that Katie Couric did once. He’ll die before he admits to anyone that he recorded it on his DVR and re-watched it at least four times.) Precocious Ginny Baker who picked up the ball when she couldn’t have been more than three and never looked back. Tiny adorable, with those big eyes, big dimples and a head full of those impossible curls, holding a baseball that was three times the size of her then tiny fist.

Mike tries not to think that when she was three, he was sixteen, being scouted for the minors.

When he’s ready to call her, he looks up and finds her staring up at a large mounted photo frame. Bowl and spoon forgotten, held closely to her chest - her long fingers extended out reaching for the picture. Even from where he is, he can see the look of wonderment on her side profile.

He goes around to get a better view, wondering why of all the fabulous Mike Lawson photos, she chooses to linger on that one.

It’s a photograph from his rookie days that he remembers posing for. A cliché follow-through pose, shot by a sports photographer, to make it look like he’d just swung and hit a homer. He looks young, clean shaven, with the posture of a good back and knees that, certainly, look like they work.

When he goes closer, he can hear that soft longing sigh. He watches her trail her fingers over the glass.

“Hey!” He says, drawing her attention.

Her head snaps to him, eyes bulging. Like she’s been caught doing something wrong – or something she doesn’t want to be seen doing.

Mike’s confused by the blush that creeps on her face, or the fact that she averts her eyes and finds something rather interesting in that almost empty cereal bowl.

“What?” He snorts, teasing her. “ _That_ the poster on your wall or somethin’?”

He means it as a joke. Ginny doesn’t laugh – she doesn’t even snort.

But - when he notices how red her ears are – and with Ginny’s complexion, that’s quite a tell – and how she starts scooping out the small puddle of milk that’s remaining at the bottom of the cereal bowl, still refusing to look at him - his jaw drops.

“Seriously?” He exclaims, looking up at the picture and back at her in amazement. “ _That’s_ the picture you had?”

She walks around him, keeping her head ducked and heads to the kitchen. Something clicks about the way she won’t look at him.

“You still _have_ it?” He says, following her, his voice a little too pitchy for his taste.

He looks back at the poster – and god! he was young. Might have been his second year with the _Padres_. He makes a mental calculation and exhales out, feeling incredulous. She was – she must have been – like what? _Twelve? Thirteen?_   

Mike follows her as she goes to the counter. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to feel.

He’s touched – overwhelmed to a point _but_ – that was a picture of him when he was just starting to make his mark. It was _before_ the greatest achievements of his career. It was _before_ his biggest endorsements. He was just starting to be known as more than ‘that new kid Lawson’ to most folks at the time. He wasn’t even married yet, for cryin’ out loud.

He was…he was…too green to _be_ anyone worth admiring at that point in his life.

_(She still carries your rookie card and has your poster on her wall.)_

“Shit!” Mike whispers, when he thinks about it. “Holy fucking shit!”

Here is the first woman who barrelled her way into baseball history. A remarkable pitcher - one of the best he’s worked with, whose tactile skill is only a complement to the intuitive brilliance of her game. The hardest working twenty-three-year-old he’s come across. The woman the entire planet can’t get enough of. The woman everyone wants to be friends with, everyone wants to be associated with, the woman everyone wants to know. The woman _he_ admires – so much that he’s willing to go up on national television and yap a whole ten minutes about her alone.

And she’s looked at _him_ as a standard of excellence? All these years?

 _(“I should tell you I have your rookie card.”_ She had said. _“You’ve been my favourite player since…”_

 _“Yeah – don’t –“_ He cut her off, because he was fed up of feeling old. _“Makes you look stupid. Makes me look old.”)_

 _He_ was the person _she_ aspired to be?

_(Still carries…still has…)_

Does she _still_ hang on to that fraudulent image of him? Does she still think that he was something _worth_ looking up to? After the way, he treated her?

He equated her with the dwarf who played for the St. Louis Browns the first week (and thank goodness she wasn’t around to hear that -) and right through being a hypocritical sexist dipfuck about the pictures with Davis, and to his more recent stupidity (and yes – _fuck_! – a fact - that he’s somewhat sure about -) that what he did to her in that tub was something akin to borderline sexual exploitation.

(Guilt, self-reproach and all their fuckin’ friends are having a party inside his head.) He’s been nothin’ short a tasselfoot.

“Ginny.” He says, unable to keep the emotion in his voice. “Baker!”

She turns around and gives him a shy smile.

She’s completely lucid, fed and _not_ -dying now. She looks like she was aware of what happened and what’s going on. Yet, she doesn’t look at him with the condemnation that he deserves.

 _(I am choosing my words carefully. Every choice I make, I_ have _to think about._ )

And he’s her choice? Is that why she chooses to place her trust in him? A trust that Mike’s broken, a trust that he knows he doesn’t deserve?

It’s supposed to be a humbling thought – but Mike doesn’t know what he’s supposed to make of it. All he knows is – whatever he might have represented to her, he sure as hell did not live up to it.

The oven dings and Mike thinks it a herald to a fact. His heart and brain are cooked as well.

 

 

 

_Does Amelia not stay over?_

The phone flashes a time of 4:30 am, when he looks at the words. She’s taken to typing things out because her voice is nothing but whistles and wheezes now.

He sighs.

She looks remorseful when she types. _Sorry. Didn’t mean to bring up sensitive topic._

“No, it’s not that. I don’t know where she is.” He says. “We uh – had a fight. I – she’s probably looking for you. She’s probably got the CIA on the phone, right now.”

Ginny sighs, a sad look covering her face.

 _It was too much,_ she types.

“What was?”

_Everything._

He nods, lightly elbows her arm as he bites into the pasta. “You don’t have to tell me. I’m here for ya.”

When she doesn’t smile, he looks at her pointedly. “Okay, Baker? I mean that.”

She shrugs and mouths: _Sorry._

“Why are you apologizing?”

She looks uncertain and then types something. His back is tired of all the leaning, so he drags his stool, over to her. She helps him drag his plate while he’s at it. 

 _Bcoz. Every one was worried…_ he reads.

Mike taps on her wrist to stop her from typing and shakes his head.

“It’s fine. You’re safe.” He says, reaching to tuck an errant coil of her hair away from her face. He pats her head while he’s at it. “That’s what matters.”

_Are you in trouble?_

“Me?” He frowns.

“Amelia.” She mouths. She makes a gesture, wagging her index between them both and then hesitantly pointing to the guest room.

“Ah.” He said, nodding at her knowingly.

She doesn’t meet his eyes, but shrugs. She shakes her head and types. _Amelia’s a friend._

Mike watches Ginny’s face. She looks nervous, and guilty.

What does it say about him that he has no remorse for _actually_ cheating on Amelia?

Mike sees himself as an expert at compartmentalization. It’s what kept his game sane despite the ultimate shitfest that went down in his personal life when Rachel cheated.

He’s filed his relationship with Amelia as under ‘to be discussed later’ because regardless of what happened with Ginny that night – he _had_ stepped out that very evening with the intention of cheating on Amelia – more specifically to vicariously get Ginny out of his system. It took him a hell lot of booze to silence his conscience before he picked up Redhead Barbie – but the fact of the matter was it _could_ be silenced.

He wonders what Ginny will think of his completely lack of moral fibre.

Mike had never cheated on anyone he cared about. But then again, Rachel had hurt him in a way he never anticipated – maybe even changed him on some level.

Not that it made, what he did  - or intended to do - justifiable.

Then again, he had compartmentalized Ginny under ‘Rookie’. He didn’t intend for her start slowly encroaching into the other compartments. Of course – back when he hooked up with her agent, he hadn’t planned on bonding with Ginny as intimately as they had. He hadn’t planned on falling in love with her. 

 _If you were my boyfriend, I’d kick your sorry ass._ She types, gathering his attention. 

“Yeah, you would!” Mike grins at her, proudly. “I’d deserve to get my sorry ass kicked by you.”

She doesn’t laugh.

“Don’t worry.” He says. “About Amelia.”

 _Not mutually exclusive?_ She types.

At least from his end, he’s not. Not anymore. Any other woman asking him that and he’d have bitten her head off. But, this is Ginny - she looks more worried than catty.

“It’s complicated.” He says, shaking his head. “Like I said, don’t worry about it. I don’t plan on seeing her anymore.”

Now, she looks really worried.

 _Because of me?_ She types.

“No genius.” He says, smiling at her (it’s a lie – but - he’s not going to reason with his emotions – or lack of it - on the subject now.). “There are other things in the world that aren’t Ginny Baker centric, you know?”

When she keeps looking at him pensively, he sighs. “Can we not talk about Amelia?” Mike says, feeling irritated.

Ginny looks down, like she’s sad again. He looks over her shoulder as she types. _Sorry. Did not mean to..._   then, she jabs the backspace button. She looks up at him once and then types again. She shows him what she’s typed while fiddling with the fork in one hand. _Not ready deal with her._

Mike frowns when he reads it. He looks up at her and she looks guilty.

 _Not right now._ She adds.

“What do you mean?”

“I was freaking out.” She wheezes the words and then grabs her throat like it’s hurting. Mike puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes, not knowing what comfort the action really offers. Whatever it was, it seems to help her, because her face relaxes.

_Just not be GBTM. For sometime._

“GBTM?”

She makes a swiping action direction pointing her self

“Ginny Baker…?” Mike figures as he nods. She nods and then shows him the trademark symbol on the back of his phone.

“Oh.” He understands.

_Wanted to get away. Went a party. Jumped in a pool…._

Mike sniggers at the last one but then teases her. “Wanted to become the first Ginny Baker™ flavoured popsicle?”

She snickers silently at his comment and types. _I was angry at you._

“I know.” He says, turning back to his food. “I’m sorry. I was a jerk.”

 _I’m not perfect, either._ She types. _But I’m not allowed to fuck up._

“Of course you are.”

She shakes her head.

“You are, Baker. None of us are saints here.”

_Then why do I feel like the great GB is letting everyone down._

Mike looks at her. She’s so young, carrying this burden - all alone. No scope for slip ups. Everything she did scrutinized, under a magnifying glass. Unwittingly dragged into controversies, unwittingly made a spokesperson for issues she wasn’t even concerned with. He remembers her those first few weeks. She looked at everyone like they were expecting a miracle out her purse and she forgot to carry the bag.

Mike thinks back to the first few months after he discovered Rachel’s unfaithfulness. He remembers how vengefully wild and reckless he became. There were days he would wake up naked, in a pool of his vomit, stoned or drunk or both. He’d fucked his share of the female population of San Diego, some – he doubts - were single and some – he doubts - were legal.

Forget his post-marriage phase, what of the early days of his career? The parties, the booze, the women, the attention, the fact that everybody wanted a share of his fame – but no one truly cared about what was right for him, what was good for him, what was healthy for him.

No one, except Rachel – and look at how that turned out.

 _Double standards,_ Amelia had said. Being a bad boy was okay and even considered cool for him, but if Ginny were to do even half the shit he’d pulled, she was labelled a slut for life.

Could he really fault Ginny Baker for wanting some time or freedom to just be herself?

“My father would be so proud of me.” It’s a sarcastic statement. A whisper that echoes in his ear. The pain in her voice is deeper than just her fucked up voice box. He turns his head and sees that desolate face as she stares into space.

“I could probably tell you some crap like – ‘no, he wouldn’t’ but…I didn’t know the guy.” Mike says. Ginny’s eyes look moist when she looks at him. “So, if you’re saying he would be unhappy.” Mike sighs. “I believe you.”

She gives him a sad smile and mouths a thank you.

“What for?”

_People always think they should say stuff to make me feel better. They don’t get that…I don’t want to feel better._

Mike understands. He knows.

 _Pop would not have approved of all of this._  She types, sighing loudly. _He would have done things the right way._

“What is the right way?” Mike asks her. “You’re here at the Majors, Baker. What is wrong about any of it?”

_Not like this. If he felt I was too distracted from the game, he’d call it off. He never let me take anything to my head. If he was around – Trevor and I – we’d never have happened._

“Baker.” Mike sighs. “You couldn’t possibly live your life out like some hermit. Even if he were around.”

_Isn’t that what’s expected of me?_

Mike sighs out loud and reaches his hand and pats Ginny’s hair. She leans into his touch.

This girl with her big game, big dreams and big heart and indomitable spirit. She’s way too good for him.

If she was his, he’d never cheat on her. If she was his, even if she drove him up the wall – he wouldn’t dream of being with anyone else but her.

That’s why things with Amelia were so weird and complicated. It felt like he was cheating on Ginny – the whole damn time.  

“Stop stressing out, okay Rookie? And eat, will you?” He says.

Ginny nods and eats her food quietly and then taps his phone after a few seconds. Mike peers and sees the fifty odd texts from Amelia, all along some version of: _has Ginny contacted you?_

Ginny shrugs apologetically, like she means to tell him that she didn’t want to spy, but she accidentally saw the texts while typing.

“You should tell her.” She whispers – light tooting sounds following her breathy words.

“And she’ll be down here before I finish that call.” Mike says, feeling irritated.

(He doesn’t know why – maybe it’s because that Amelia blamed him during her outburst. Maybe because he’s self-conscious on the fact that he’s cheated on her and that he doesn’t feel sorry about it. Maybe he’s irritated at himself, because if he’d been less of a dick, Ginny probably wouldn’t have been running around San Diego and nearly freezing to death. Or, maybe it’s because of Amelia’s tendency to mother Ginny around to the point of suffocation that irritates him more than any of the above.

Or maybe it’s all the above.)

“Do you want that?” Mike asks her. 

The look on Ginny’s worried face implies a frank negative.

Mikes leans forward and kisses her forehead without thinking. Ginny gives a small smirk and rubs her nose on his sleeve. It feels like the most natural and least weird action he’s done all night – which is saying something, giving how this night went.

 _I’m not a child._ She types, after a while.

He frowns at the words before he nods at her. “I know that.”

 _I knew what I was doing._ She types and jabs a finger towards his guest bedroom. Then she types. _I won’t hold it against you. Don’t worry._

She ought to, is what he thinks. But. He feels a flippant flutter in his chest and flashes her a cocky grin. “Liked it that much did ya?” He drawls. “Blew your mind, did I?”

She rolls her eyes and twists her mouth. She flaps her palm as if to say: Meh.

Mike snorts sarcastically. “I rocked your world, Baker. You know it.”

She widens her eyes in mock horror and types. _This_ _pasta rocked my world more._

He drops his head to the side, giving her a daring look. She snorts and goes back to eating.

He points to the photograph that she was looking up at before. When her head follows his direction, he drops his mouth near her ear and whispers. “You got sexy with that guy.”

She doesn’t take the bait. She just rolls her eyes at him and makes a dirty face, and she draws an imaginary circle at her chin and then gagging. Then she gives him a sassy look, jutting her chin up at him.

“C’mon. Admit it” He narrows his eyes at her, suggestively, tips his chin up at her. “You _love_ the beard.”

That does it. Ginny’s eyes widen and she blushes to a furious shade of pink. Mike chuckles and elbows her while she hides her face from him.

 

 

_Ginny’s with me. She’s safe. She doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now. Don’t call. She’ll call you when she’s ready._

He shows her the message as she crawls into the bed, bone tired and looking like she’ll collapse any second. When she nods, he hits the send button. He hopes Amelia will get the idea and give Ginny her space, for once.

He doubts it – but he hopes.

She didn’t want to sleep in his room. “Too weird,” she mouthed at him when he tried to convince her. She’s yawning repeatedly as he tucks her in.

“Shall I stay?” He says. He only realizes how much he wants to stay when the words are out of his mouth. He wants to snuggle in and sleep beside her. It’s the weirdest thing. When she frowns at him, and shakes her head, he shrugs and pesters. “I promise to be a gentleman.” He says, trying not to sound too desperate.

She looks at him peculiarly, then she reaches for the phone and types: _Do you want to stay?_

For some reason, he assumes that to be a yes and it fills him with a completely unexpected sense of delight. “Yeah!” He grins at her wide. Before she can type anything else, he pulls back the covers and sticks his foot at her hip, nudging her to scoot.

Technically. He can go around the other side, but - it seems more fun this way.

She frowns at him, and kicks back at him. She keeps fighting his leg off with hers.

“Move Rookie!” He orders.

She types furiously, grunting as she rolls to accommodate him.  

_You don’t have to pity me, anymore. I’m fine._ Is what he sees when she sticks the phone in his face, once he has the comforters pulled over them both.

He groans at first. “It’s not pity!” He drawls, exasperated. She doesn’t look like she believes him. She makes a determined face and starts to paw at the phone again, but he wrestles it out of her hand, laughing the whole time, and places it on the side table - far out of her reach. He laughs when she shoves him with tiny punches. When she huffs and settles back finally, he yanks her towards him by grabbing the pullover. He slides his arm under her neck and catches her leg when she playfully knees his belly.

“Stay.” He orders her, like she’s a puppy. She visibly takes offence – but goes still – sort of like a puppy. He thinks it’s adorable. He pulls her into his arms, leans over her body and tucks the edges of the comforter around her side.

She looks like a grumpy cocooned baby bear when he’s done. He smiles, satisfied and then adjusts himself. She hesitantly snuggles herself into his side and rubs her nose against his t-shirt.

It’s an endearing action – it’s almost like her way of saying: ‘I like you, you’re my favourite’ (or – that’s what he’s going to believe until she tells him otherwise.)

He curls his arms around her back and they both shift till they’re a tangle of arms and limbs. He reaches his hand and palms the thigh she has draped over his hip, running it up and gripping her ass. Her hums sound gravelly but pleased. She tucks her head under his chin and slips her hand under his t-shirt, playing with his chest hair. He slides his hand under the pullover, running his palm up and down her bare, smooth back until she relaxes against him.

“This is nice.” He hears her whisper, feels her breath against his chest. Mike sighs, inhaling as he kisses her forehead.

 _Yes, it is,_ he agrees. He doesn’t remember much after that.

 

His eyes snap open when something stabs his side. The sun is too bright for his eyes, he grumbles and squints up. She’s sitting up, repeatedly poking him.

“Baker!” He mutters, slumping his arm around her midsection and hauling her down. “What the fuck? Go back to sleep.”

He moans angrily, when she doesn’t stop wriggling. He lugs his leg over her thighs, wincing as his back protests. He smiles when he hears an exasperated huff and she stills.

Then the little beast is back at it again. Squirming and fidgeting.

“Baker!” He whines. “Cut it out! It’s like hugging a worm!”

“Old Man! Wake up!” He hears her wheeze.

Mike rolls on his back – setting her free. He grunts when he feels her climb over his stomach. He likes that feeling - he decides.

He yelps when a sharp elbow hits his solar plexus.

“What!” He growls, sitting up. Her supple ass falls back down to his lap.

She looks remarkably relieved – as though he’d flatlined and she’d brought him back from the dead.

He grimaces at her and scratches his beard. He also decides that he wants to wake up with her every day.

Even, if she does keeping looking at him like someone killed her cat.

Whiny squeaky noises escape her throat. Mike blinks and rubs his eyes to get a clearer picture of what she’s trying to say.

“Amelia!” She mouths at him frantically.

And then he hears it. The faint voice wafting in calling his name.

He slaps his face and sighs.

He’s _really_ getting too old for this crap.

 

Ginny scrambles off him and sits on her haunches, bouncing up and down nervously. He reaches for the phone and sees that its 9:00 am. They barely got in three hours of sleep. His head feels heavy – and then he remembers he’d consumed cirrhosis inducing volumes of alcohol as well.

He groans out loud when he swings his legs off the bed. His back popping a series of cracks that he knows Ginny can hear because she gently pats his back. He cranes his neck around and smiles at her, sleepily.

“Stay here.” He says, yawning and getting up.

“Mike!” Ginny hisses in panic.

“Baker,” Mike says, scratching the back of his head and looking at her. “Relax. I got this, alright? Try and go back to sleep.”

Thanks to the state of the art electronic security that cost him a humongous amount of money, his entire house was on an electronic lockdown. He had the sense to change the passcode, just before he went to bed. – because Amelia knew the earlier one.

The guest bedroom thankfully faced the pool or he might have had to stare up at Amelia’s disapproving face because knowing her she probably climbed over the fence and tossed a brick into his bedroom window by now.

He was right. He shakes his head at the sight of her, livid – sleep deprived and slamming her fist on the tempered glass façade of his front door. His security system disables the bell by default he recalls. He had checked the read receipt on the text before he came out - and he knows Amelia just saw it about an hour ago. She’s probably been out there banging on the door and screaming for a while.

The rattling noise causes a series of mini-explosions in his head as he heads towards the door. He makes a mental note to change the passcode to the main gate the next time.

He grimaces at her angrily and holds a palm out, gesturing for her to stop.

She smacks the door, violently. Glaring and fuming at him.

 _Yep. They’re done._ He decides, right then.

 

“Geez!” He shouts. “Keep it down, would ya? I have neighbours.”

She’s already storming her way in as soon as he disables the lock.

 “Where is she?” She’s roaring in a voice that doesn’t help his pounding head. Mike catches her elbow as soon as she tries to march past him.

“Ginny!” She yells, wrestling her arm out his hand.

Mike tightens his grip. She’s pretty strong for a petite woman – and it takes an effort for him to hold his ground without seeming like he’s manhandling her.

“Ginny!” She screams (and Mike really _really_ doesn’t like what that does to his ear drums.)

“Shut up!” Mike roars – snappy and completely in captain-mode.

She goes completely still. She whips her head to glare at him and (- God, he hates being mean.) that indignant gasp doesn’t help.

“She’s sleeping.” Mike says in a softer voice. “She’s had a rough night and she doesn’t need you…”

“She needs me.” Amelia starts squirming.

“She needs…” Mike grits his teeth. “…to sleep.”

Mike looks at Amelia pointedly, eases the hold he has on her elbow. When it seems like she’s not going to barge past him, he releases her but gently shoving her backwards – stepping in front of her. As though the vast expanse of space around him is not a barrier for her to run past.

“And.” Mike says, sternly. “She needs some time. She will call you.”

Amelia’s never seen this side of him – Mike reasons. The authoritative, captain of the _Padres_ , no-nonsense side of him that he reserves for his game. She’s not used to him commandeering her – maybe she’s not used to being commandeered, period. He can tell from the stunned expression on her face.

He should be nicer, he reckons. But he’s just not in the mood.

“Why is she here?” The accusation in her tone, sounds louder than her voice.

“Because _you_ are too much for her.” He says, bluntly. Surprising himself – he’s never really been direct about anything with her.

“Where is she?” Amelia hisses, looking around his house as though Ginny would magically appear on the stairwell.

He doesn’t answer.

“Is she hurt?”

She looks like she’s almost in tears. Mike feels a twinge of sympathy for her.

“Mike!” She says, loudly. “Is she alright?”

He nods. Doesn’t feel like updating her on the hypothermia and what sounds like laryngitis.

“I have to see her.”

“She’s fine.” Mike says. “She’s sleeping.”

“You can’t keep stop me from seeing her, you’re not her father!”

 

And that’s about does it for him sympathy-wise.

“You’re not her mother.” Mike says, throwing her a warning look.

“You can’t keep me away from her.”

“Watch me.”

“What are you going to do?” Amelia sneers. “Wrestle me down?”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Mike says, seriously.

“This is not a time for jokes.” Amelia says, dismissively.

He stays silent.

“Are you serious?”

He shrugs.

“You are, aren’t you?”

He purses his mouth and folds his arms, bracing his legs.

“When she’s up.” Mike says. “I’ll take her to Blip’s.”

“Why didn’t she go to them in the first place? Why you?”

Mike shrugs. He honestly doesn’t know the answer to that one. Amelia takes a step around him. He blocks her path.

“What part of ‘she doesn’t want to see you’, don’t you get Amelia?”

“All of it. You don’t control her!” She shrieks.

“Keep your voice down.” He says, loudly. When she doesn’t say anything, he adds. “Neither do you.”

Amelia opens her mouth and closes it.

“She needs some time.” Mike says, calmly.

“Mike!  You have no idea what a _huge_ media …”

“Media fucknado, yeah, I know.” He says, biting out his words. “And, she knows that too. And guess what? That’s what she’s been going through for the last year. This whole celebrity press or whatever it is that gets you your commissions? That’s _normal_ for you. Not for her. Do you have idea what this like for her? It’s going to send her into a breakdown!”

“Then I’ll get her the help she needs.”

“What she needs…” Mike growls. “is time. And the media’s not going anywhere. Do your job – and spin it the way you want. She’s not leaving this place until she’s ready.”

Amelia takes a deep breath and steps forward jabbing a finger in his direction. “What she’s going through now, is _nothing_ compared to what she’s been through to get here.”

He believes her. He knows it – he’s known it. And Amelia was part of that journey. He knows that, too. 

“You’re barely known her, like what? Five months.” Amelia grinds her teeth. Mike’s beginning to see why she needs a nightguard.

“Don’t pretend like you know anything about what it’s like for her. You’re not her protector, Mike.  She doesn’t need you to swoop in and rescue her. She can handle it.”

“She’s also human!” Mike hisses. “Cut her some slack.”

Amelia closes her eyes and puts a hand out. “Lawson, if you’ve taken advantage of her….” Amelia hisses.

“Get out.” He barks.

“What?”

“Get. Out.”

“You can’t…”

“I can. You’re trespassing. I’ll call the police, I’ll create a scene.” He says (because why the hell not, right?). “Whatever it is – you are not seeing Baker, until she’s ready to see you.”

“And you just decided that?” Amelia says, making a face of disbelief.

“Okay. Here’s what we’re gonna do.” Mike says, clapping his hands. He seizes her arm and steers her to the door. When Amelia opens his mouth, he silences her with a look. She’s surprised, Mike’s surprised too – he never thought the incorrigible Amelia Slater would back down from one of his on-field glowers.

“Ginny’s going to sleep as long as she needs.” He says, enunciating the words. “She’s going to wake up and I’m going to get her to eat my famous avocado spread on toast. You know the ones you hate? She’s going to eat them? D’you know, why? Great lean protein to carb ratio. And if she _doesn’t_ wanna eat ‘em. I’m gonna make her a protein shake. And if she doesn’t want that. I’ll let her eat whatever the fuck she wants to eat. And if she doesn’t want to eat – if she decides she wants to just chill at my really cool, custom made, mahogany wooden pool table, I’m gonna let her do that.”

Amelia is looking at him in horror.

“No I’m kidding,” He smiles, flippantly. “I’m not gonna let her touch my pool table.”

The color fades from Amelia’s face.

He shrugs.  “Point is - _she_ decides what she wants to do. I was going to drop her off at the Sanders – but seeing the fact that you just will not back down, I am not going to do that. I’ll let her hide it out till she’s ready.”

He opens the door and leads Amelia out.

“If she wants to call you – and she _will_ eventually want to call you.” He says, sighing out. “And knowing her, she’ll probably own up, apologize for wanting her space and take responsibility for making you uncomfortable because that’s what you do.” Mike says, looking directly into Amelia’s eyes. “You manipulate her into feeling guilty for wanting something for herself, that doesn’t mean a commission for you.”

Amelia’s shock is palpable.

“Until then –“ Mike says, shoving her out the door. “You can chill. Do your job, if you still wanna do it. If not – I’ll find her ten agents just like you. They won’t be as good as you, I’ll give you that.” He widens his eyes, to reinstate the point. “They won’t get her such a big endorsement, sure. They’ll probably fuck up, trying to fix Ginny’s image after this whole selfie-gate thing. But, they’ll get the job done. And for the rest – the team’s going to have her back on this one.”

He heaves exhausted and rubs his face. “Now, you can go. And I’m gonna do you a solid, and ask you nicely – so – Now, you can go, _please_.”

Mike doesn’t bother to wait for a response. He turns on his heels and goes back in.

 

Ginny’s literally hiding under the covers when he goes to the room. If he didn’t see her hair peeking out at the head end of the bed, he would have thought she’d taken off.

“I think we’ve officially broken up.” Mike says, tugging the covers back. She kicks them off and looks at him.

“Not because of you.”

She looks at him, with a deadpan expression, turning her head to the side.

“Well, maybe not entirely because of you.” He concedes. “I’m running low on my beauty sleep, what about you? D’you wanna eat or d’you wanna go back to bed”

She ponders it while he crawls in. “Or do you wanna eat in bed?” He mumbles, closing his eyes. He feels her shifting so that she can line her body up against him. He sighs and throws his arm around her waist.

“I wanna make out.” She whispers.

Mike cranks one eye open. She looks positively impish.

“C’mere.” He rumbles, smiling up at her lazily.

He’s not a big fan of her mouth in the morning, he realizes. And the faces she makes, he reckons she feels the same way about his breath.  But, he kisses her anyway. Gross, long, tonguey – frenchy kisses. Then she curls up against him and they fall asleep together with goofy smiles on their faces.

 

Mike wakes up with his heart threatening to pound its way out of his chest, the harsh light of the noon sun hitting his blurry eyes and a cool, wet feeling on his treacherously hard erection.

He looks down on himself and then he curses and looks up, hyperventilating.

Yep. That’s Ginny Baker right there with her pretty lips wrapped around the swollen head of his dick.  

He slaps his face – once and twice. Then, he realizes he’s not dreaming.

This is actually fucking happening.

“Fuck! Baker!” He gasps, looking down at her. He reaches for the mass of frizzy curls and bunches them, shifting them away from her face. Her moan vibrates through the shaft right into his balls. “What are you doing?”

She looks up at him, her brown eyes almost black with this hungry, lustful look. She licks her tongue along the length of him, the look in her eyes daring him to ask her the same question again.

 _Oh fuck!_ That is _not_ an image he’s ever going to get out of his head.

“Gin! Please. You…you.” He says, heaving as he looks up at the ceiling. _You don’t have to do that._ He wants to say. “Don’t!” He rasps as he feels his pelvic muscles clench.

“Am I doing it wrong?” He _feels_ the words against his skin more than he hears it.

 _That’s_ a stupid question but then again -  Mike half-laughs half-gasps - she’s barely twenty three! How much experience could she possibly have? Her voice is reduced to nothing to squeaks and squawks from that sore throat and _that’_ s what she’s worried about!

 _“Shit!”_ He gasps.

He looks down at her and her eyes look – well he feels stupid now – she looks disappointed.  She pulls back. Her lips release him with a pouty smack -  that image – yeah - it doesn’t help with his efforts at being gentlemanly.

She’s starting to look apologetic and Mike sighs; he shakes his head at her. It almost looks like self-doubt on her face. The covers that were sitting over her head like a veil fall as she straightens.

“No…!” He growls. “No! Babe, you were doing fine.” He grits his teeth as his dick spasms. Her rough palm rests over the base in a vice-like grip. “I – it’s just you don’t have to –“ He looks at her and trails off.

She’s loosened her grip and she’s idly stroking him – the look on her face. It’s like that mopey look she gets when she reads the hitter wrong or throws a lousy pitch.

“Do _you_ want this?” He says, surprised.

“I want this, with you.” Her voice is a mere whisper. But the intensity with which she looks at him – it’s – it’s – fuck it’s – overwhelming is what it is.

She releases him and sits back, resting that pear shaped tush of hers on his knees.

Mike wants this with her too – whatever _this_ is.

He props himself on his elbows and looks at her.  His dick upright, engorged and wagging shamelessly erect between them like some sort of obscene statement that they’re both trying to make but can’t come out and say it.

“Take off your clothes.” He says, reaching for his t-shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure that's now how Mimelia breaks up but I'm going to believe this version till the day I die.
> 
> Mindless smut ahead. If you want it....:::whistles:::


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Ao3 ate up a chapter and a lot of my replies. So thank you to all for your reviews. I'll respond personally to reviews for this chapter.  
> Smut Alert  
> This chapter was pretty tough to write. I mean, i'm trying to be all angsty and emo and these two just run off and bone.

He likes oral as much as the next guy – and her hesitant licks and warm mouth, has him halfway convinced already.

It’s just – he’s not ready.

It feels depraved – on some level. It’s bad enough that they’re two co-workers who fraternized. This is his rookie. This is a player on his team. Forget, professional sports - in any given profession – what they’ve been doing would still be perceived as ‘inappropriate conduct’. He’s violating boundaries as her captain, as the senior member of the team.

For all intents and purposes, their current situation is precarious. She’s so young, she’s so vulnerable and yeah – even if it’s clear that she wants him right now, she may not want him after they finally step out of this bubble.

This is temporary – he knows it, and - she doesn’t know it, yet. She looks eager, and willing – and he’s only too happy to take what she offers, even if it is just sex. Thing is - he wants everything. And, Ginny won’t be able give everything without it annihilating her.  She’s waited her whole life to get to the majors. She’s sacrificed a great deal, in her short twenty-three-year life – including love.

He’s standing here at the other end – knowing from experience, that there is so much more that she’ll have to give up. 

This is temporary – and he’s okay with it.  Mike’s older, wiser and he’s seen enough and more duplicity in his life to understand what the world would do to them both. What the world would do to her. He won’t be able to protect her. Even if he desperately wants to.

This is temporary –  the ginormous squall that she’ll be facing tomorrow, damned nearly gives him palpitations. He’s prepared to stand by her, but he knows her well enough that she’ll wall up, shut down – push him away. He even understands why. Ginny’s been fighting alone all her life – and that won’t change now.

This is temporary. “ _Every choice I make, I have to think about.”_ It wasn’t a joke. He hasn’t forgotten that Ginny used those words in connection with Trevor Davis. He hasn’t forgotten the raw anger with which she lost it out there on the field. He hasn’t forgotten how happy she looked, how in love she seemed in the photos with Davis. To love whoever she wants has become a burden for her. To be cherished has become an added responsibility. 

This is temporary - in her own words, she doesn’t want to be Ginny Baker – so he’ll give her that temporary amnesty she craves.

She needs to be allowed to experience her desires, to want without consequence, to feel without calculating the costs – if only for a moment – to revel in reckless abandonment without guilt.

This is temporary – he knows. But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t make the memory worthwhile. 

He wants to make love to her. So, he tells her as much.

“Didn’t peg you for a sap.” She squeaks, while she sheds her –no- _his_ clothes.

“Couldn’t hear you back there, Baker.” He jokes. “Frog sittin’ on your voicebox?”

The reply to which, is him being smacked in his face with the pullover.

He laughs and throws it away and then doesn’t laugh any more.

The architect had given him a whole lecture on the benefits of high ceilings while they planned the house, with “everything looks better with natural light blah de blah” -  Mike thought the guy was just making shit up.

Now though, in the brilliant light of the sun filtering into the room she’s a vivid mix of loveliness and sensuality.  He admires the cuts of her muscles as the light falls on her frame, that beautiful bronze skin, bright & glowing with humour and latent desire – Mike’s beginning to see the architect’s point.

Everything does look better in natural light.

He pulls her so that she crawls on top of him, her movements sensual, fluid, almost hypnotic – like a cat. His eyes roll shut when the tip of erection trails over her stomach.

“I want you like this. I want to see you.” He mutters, threads his fingers into her hair, cupping her scalp, bringing her head down to meet his. He kisses her – licks deep into her mouth – sliding his tongue against the roof. Her lips are puffy and she’s breathless when he draws back. Her eyes are still closed – like she’s trying to cling to the after-effects.

“Are you okay with being on top?” He mumbles.

She bites her lower lip, beaming at him.

“I think I’ll manage.” She says – the sarcasm evident, even in the scrapey timbre.

Mike clenches his teeth when he forces a cocky smile – because - that even with the grating texture, that husky voice does something to his dick, that makes it difficult for him to be a wiseass.

She straddles him over his upper abdomen and leans forward. Her knees, digging into his armpits. The weather is nippy and the chill has seeped into the room. Mike feels it as the sweat chills over his skin.  

Mike sighs and shakes his head at the sight of her. Looming above him - naked, as the desire in her eyes - her breasts hanging over his face – those turgid nipples there for the taking.

It’s overwhelming.

He groans, closing his eyes when she slides down over his body. She’s wet - and grinding her sex down in the space below his rib cage and then slinking downwards, tantalizingly slow, leaving a warm slippery trail that’s cooled by nippy air against his heated skin. He twitches in contact with the supple feel of her ass resting on his dick. 

He strokes her back, gently, half-rising - wanting to explore more. He kisses her collarbone, swirling his tongue in the hollow of her neck and moans when her wet core slides along the rigid length of his member.

She giggles and catches his face.  Frizzy, riotous hair piling around them like a curtain. Mike shifts one side of it, tucking it behind her ear and just looks up at her, fondly.

“You’re incredible.” He murmurs.

He’s rewarded with another bashful smile.

He widens his thighs, reaches his hand out to her neck, clamps his mouth over the crook of her shoulder. It’s her spot -  something he noticed the previous night. He drags his chin and mouth over it, then kisses his way, up and down her neck.

She flinches every time he flicks his tongue over her skin. She cradles his head against her when he reaches for breast.  She whimpers when he kisses. The squelching sound of slick on slick feels louder in the silence filled by their rough breathing.

“You like this, don’t you?” He murmurs, kneading at the plump softness. She moistens her lip, watching the ministrations, eyes dark and filled with lust. He buries his face into her breastbone, squeezing her breasts on either side of his beard. She hums and scratches his scalp, encouragingly. When he laps against her nipple – she makes a whiny noise. When he traps the erect nipple with his teeth and tugs - her eyebrows arch, and she weighs down, grinding.

“Do you like it?” He drones a rhetoric, looking up at her, her nipple resting in the inner margin of her lower lip (because it’s evident she does). She claws her fingers into the back of his neck as an answer. He teases her repetitively with his tongue and pulls away making a noisy popping sound. “I could suck on your tits for ever.” He says, cupping them and scraping his teeth against the soft under surface.

All that talk, seemingly, rouses her. She grabs his face and crushes her mouth on his – it’s  a short, hard kiss. He’s breathless when she draws back.

They smile. Together. It’s the damndest thing. Her smile doesn’t fade when she bends to kiss him again, softer this time and  his smile doesn’t fade when he kisses her back.

He falls back – taking him with her. She licks into his mouth. He bites at her lips. They make out – slow and wet. She bows and arcs her body, squishing her breasts against his chest. Bursts of hot pleasure skirt through his body headed straight downtown. Mike hastily, grabs her ass when she rolls herself. He caresses her hair gently and skims his palms over her back. She hums into his mouth when he pets her. Her fingernails claw against his beard as she bites little kisses along his jaw.

She hums every time she licks over his skin - as though she relishes the act of pleasuring him.

He nearly bounds off the bed when her teeth graze against his flat nipple. She swirls her tongue and he finds his body jerking, again. He reaches his hand between her ass, swiping his fingers down the cleft – enormously appreciative of how soaked her sex is. He grasps himself, his dick moisty and slippery, pumps a couple of strokes, before rubbing the head against her folds.

She throws her head up, gasping, eyes rolled shut and tongue trapped between her clamped lips. He probes further, teasing at her clit. She sits up in a hurry, uses his chest as leverage and shimmies her way down.

Without a foreword and before Mike can actually tell what she’s up to, she’s reaching for him, curling her arm, between her legs, and lifts her weight off him.

“Baker…!” He gasps, when those pitcher calluses of her palm fist over and rub the sensitive skin of his erection. Mike sucks in his breath as she lines them up and sinks down.

He groans, loud – slamming his head back into the pillow with a flurry of curses - bucking his hips up instantly as her moist heat slides down –- her cunt clenching around him, snug and – hot.

Her gasp is hoarse and her mouth forms a little triangle for the silent ‘Ah!’. She’s scratching into his chest, her fingernails digging to the point of little pin-pricks pains.

(And it’s just so –! He could die just then without a single regret, is what he’s saying.)

They haven’t exactly waited to get the…

“Condom!” He wheezes – it’s more an alert than a question.

Ginny has her mouth wide open, breathing heavily, looking down at their joined bodies. She looks she’s completely baffled – as though she doesn’t know what to make of what she feels. She’s wincing and then frowning and then wincing and then looks up at him – those dark, dilated pupils focussing on him.

She shakes her head, panting heavily.

He’s going to assume that means that she’s covered as far as protection is concerned. At least, it’s what he hopes because his brain has ceased functioning and he can’t be held responsible if that pounding his head impedes his sense of reasoning. He barely has the presence of mind to grasp her hips to steady her as she settles her weight on him.

She widens her hip, another hoarse cry escaping her – and Mike’s moan isn’t far behind - he’s ridden up deeper, further and he’s completely swathed by her to the hilt and by fuck – it feels so, so good.

He hasn’t ridden bareback since Rachel – Ginny feels different. She’s tighter, warmer, her body feels harder. Her heat so intimately fused against him –

\- it feels…extraordinary .

She looks at him – and frowns. Like she isn’t sure what she wants to do. Like she’s so surprised they made it this far that she isn’t sure where to take it. She does a little lift and drop and that has Mike hissing and sputtering the word ‘ _Fuck’_ in five different ways. She slides back, her ass rolling over his thighs and Mikes fingernails dig deeper into her flesh. She leans forward and pirouettes her hips and that has him clenching his teeth and arching up his neck.

He swallows large dry gulps, waiting for her to adjust – getting real antsy at this point because there she is writhing and clamping all around him while he’s trying to be patient because he wants to do it slowly, giving he as much gratification as he can and…

…she’s really, _really_ , not making this easier.

There’s a tomorrow at the end of all of this. They’re going to wake up from this dream at some point. They’ll be so in over their heads – that Mike’s mind has shut down just to avoid thinking about it.

His rookie, this woman-child who crept into his heart and life and he’s literally run out of ways to think of how he loves her. And. She will still want him. He knows she will. She will rightfully want him, as her captain, her battery-mate and her colleague…

– but maybe not as her lover.

But today, here, in this moment - she wants to fuck him. And he wants her to fuck him. At this point - he’s totally game if they fuck mindlessly, all the time, right into the apocalypse.

He wants to indulge her as best as he can.

She isn’t moving.

When Mike’s eyes meet hers, he gets the impression that she’s looking to him for direction.

They might as well be out on that field, right then – close to retiring the side of the seventh, her arm is tired, her throws uncertain – all she needs is for him to walk up to her and give her direction.

Mike’s dick twitches inside her, and it looks like she felt it because she sighs and closes her eyes. She releases his chest to comb back her hair, tucking the tendrils behind her ears, her fingers run down her neck down to her breast. She pinches her nipple and rolls it between her index and thumb.

He just gapes, dumbstruck. He rubs his hands over his abdomen, fingers skimming over bevelled edges of her ab muscles. She reaches her other hand between them, strums her clit a little. His mouth goes dry.

_Fuck. Like. Fuck, fuck fuck._

He’s going to lose it if she keeps doings that.

He rolls his hips under her giving her a little hint. She whimpers and flattens her palms over his ribs. She suddenly lifts and drops herself in short, quick movements, almost humping.

Mike grits his teeth. This will be over if she moves at that rate, well before, well before he even gets a chance to chase her orgasm.

“Slow down.” He murmurs, his hands flying to her hips, holding them tight to attenuate her pace.

He sits up – and she cries out, a loud and gravelly sound – before her movements pick up. Mike grunts and covers her breast with a hand and rolling her nipples around. He widens his legs, allows her to tilt her pelvis backwards – rolls her the back of her thighs to rest on his.

“Slow down.” He insists, kissing at the ridges of her windpipe jutting out as she arches her neck.

He holds her waist tighter until she stops and peers at him.

He gives her a lazy smile, pecking her neck and chin with small kisses. He cups a hand at the back of her neck and reins her in a deep kiss.

“I want to feel you.” He whispers, rubbing his lips against hers. “I want it all.”

She whimpers and nods, pulling her eyebrows together and rolling her hips wincing repeatedly – like she’s trying to succeed at something.

Mike finds in perplexing until he doesn’t. He almost laughs out and drops his head into her shoulder, not wanting her to see him snorting.

She’s trying to make this feel good for him.

 _(Shit_ , he loves her. He loves her – like, there are no words for it – that’s how he loves her.)

He curls his fingers into her hips, forcing her to stay still. She just stops moving and sighs exasperated. He strokes up her sides – doesn’t really do anything, just fondles her back in gentle soothing movements, nuzzling his head into her chest, kissing the tops of her breasts until her breathing slows down and becomes more even.

When Mike looks up at her, she’s continually licking her lips with her eyes closed and a relaxed face. It’s like the simple pleasure of union is slowly seeping into her body – and she’s starting to enjoying it.

He tugs her arms around and until she’s wrapped them around his shoulders, slips his arms around her back and hugs her –

\- just hugs her.

He’s never hugged her, intimately – before. All the back pats, arm-knocking, high fives, elbowing and ass slapping – even side hugs – but he’s never _really_ hugged her.

“See…” He says, softly. “No hurry, babe…we’ve got all the time in the world, okay, Gin? Just relax.”

Her eyelids flutter open. She’s squinting into his face through dilated pupils, like her vision is blurry. She runs her fingers over his shoulder blades, gently pats his face, plays with his beard, smiling down at him.

Mike kisses her, softly and sweetly, sighing. He’s amazed that he’s held out this long. He’s amazed at how good it feels just to have her like this, without moving, without jerking. Just feeling her. Just submerging himself in that warm glowing aura of hers. He’s amazed at how easy this feels – how right - just the two of them.

Mike sighs and falls back, pulling her with him in his embrace. Her moan is loud, husky and so close to her natural voice, that he wonders if she’s recovered it for an instant. She dithers from the loss of balance, but he’s got her. He pulls his hips down, just till the head of his erection stays inside her, hissing when the chill of the air hits cools over the moist shaft.

He clasps her face, steadying her like that, keeping her hovering. She flattens her forearms on either side of his face, her curly mane tumbling down, spilling down on either side.

He combs her hair back, entwining those locks in the spaces between his fingers. He keeps her face clapped between his palms like that – the heels of his palms against her jaw, hollows against her cheekbones, her hair trapped in his fingers.

He wonders how he ever got by without her for so long. He wonders how he’s ever going to survive when she leaves.

He thrusts upwards.

Ginny’s mouth widens.

He pulls out and does it again – slowly.  

“Ohgodohgodohgod!” Her whiny voice comes out a little low pitched whinges, her eyes slamming shut. “Oh gaw- _Mike!_ ” 

She opens her eyes and looks down at him, stunned. He gives her a wide open-mouthed smug grin and then bucks his hips upwards. She stays still – gasping and sighing, letting him fuck her from below.

“That feel good?” He mumbles.

Her eyebrows cross and her head flops in his hands, as an answer.

She nods her head furiously, keeping her eyes shut, her face in euphoric paroxysms, she inadvertently slumps her weight down on him – earning a groan of discomfort. The change of angle has him sliding up into her. She’s boneless and trembling over him – her ragged breathing, loud along the side of his neck. He snorts a small laugh, realizing that she just climaxed there – just a little.

He bucks himself upwards, jerking her body. She gets the hint, plants her palms on his chest and lifts herself up to a seated position and sinks down. Mike moans and drags his pelvis down with her upward movements and he matches his upward thrust with her downward slide. She rides him like that, fucking down until he’s groaning loudly.

He grinds his teeth and rolls – to which - she cries hoarsely and lurches forward. He grins at her wide. Almost yells ‘bingo’.

“Looks like -“ He starts to speak.  She whines, something fierce. “Looks like –“ He tries again, but - she mimics the action from her end and suddenly they’ve found a rhythm.  “– Fuck - yeah!” He utters. “Yeah babe. Like _that_!”

She makes a high-pitched affirmative “Mmhmm.”  

He’ll still try one more time, though. His voice is quivering so he doesn’t know if his wisecrack will have any punch. “Looks like I found G-Baker’s G-spot!” He finishes his statement with a loud groan.

Her eyes flash open just to shoot him a look. He’s in complete agreement with her sentiment. It doesn’t sound funny to him, either.

“Oh.” She whispers, slowly, rolling her eyes shut. “Fuck.” Mike watches her throat bob as she swallows a breath of air. “Oh… _fuck_!” She whispers again.

Mike gasps when she straightens her spine, gingerly lifting her torso off him while she rocks. Her cries become more strident and louder, she throws her head back, sliding her fingers up into her hair, bunching it over her crown – an immensely delighted expression overtaking her face.

“Ohfuckohfuck.” She chants, “Oh! fuck! Fuck fuck fuck! _Mike!_ ”

With closed eyes and a smile on her lips, she starts to pirouette – small, slow horizontal rolls, keeping her hair bunched up like that, as though the only sensation she wants is the one she gets by stirring her hips around his dick.

Mike just watches her, burning with arousal and amazement, sighing at the vision she presents.

She tilts when he insinuates his palm, just between them. All it takes is one light, brush of his fingers at her clit. There’s no weight to his touch but there she goes. Falling forward, her elbows on his shoulders, her spine bowed out like a cat, her forehead knocking against him, mouth open wide, breathing right into his eyes.

The way she cries out has him worried about how she’s straining her larynx.

Mike flattens his feet on the bed and he lifts his lower body – and hers - up, off the bed. Her thighs pull together and align to a kneel. The protest of his knees, pales in comparison to the delightful paroxysms coursing through his veins.

He drops his eyes, watching the breasts sway up and down like the motions of a conductor. He rubs her back in light, swiping, movements – feeling the thick droplets of sweat smearing between his fingers. He cups her breast as she leans forward, he hastily latches on, getting a mouthful.

She makes a noise that sound midway between a ‘huh!’ and a gasp. She moans and whimpers as he sucks and bites at it – mapping down the sides of her rib cage.  Mike closes his eyes, keeps rolling her nipple around with his tongue, that familiar pleasing sensation building between the base of his spine and balls.

There’s distinctive smacking sound of skin on skin, mixing with the abrasive noise of the shared wetness that lubricates their actions that he finds particularly interesting and he doesn’t know the fuck why.

Ginny makes a ragged noise and shackles his hands in her fists, suddenly. He was rapt with stroking her waist with one and her clit with the other. He releases her breast and looks up at her face as she pins his arms over his head, threading her fingers into his.

Fuck! His breath hitches, in disbelief. She’s going to come, a second time.

She’s got her face screwed up in concentration, eyes squeezed tightly shut, her chin rubbing up against his forehead. He tries to move his hands – and she curls her fingers, applying weight, as though they’re a distraction she can’t handle now. Mike lifts his head up and ghosts his mouth over the skin under her jaw. She moans and knocks her head against his forehead.

He keeps licking at the spot just above the inner edge of her collarbone. She stills right there, her belly shimmying down, back and neck snapping upwards, tossing her hair back, her elbows giving way, her chin knocking with his teeth, her breath quivering. 

A pleasing, viscous, distinct dampness covering his throbbing member. His name emerging as a whispered plea.

It fills him with as much relief as vanity. His muscles feel like they’re giving up on him – and he’s not going to be able to sustain this for long. The ambient chill cools against the heat of sweat soaked skin. He grunts loudly, summons strength enough to flip their joined bodies. She’s so limp and flaccid like jelly - he has the sense to cup her neck to prevent it from slacking down and hitting the wooden edges of the bed.

Her eyelids are serenely closed while she wriggles and moans -  odd squeaky pleasured whining noises, that he can’t stop smiling about. Her face seems frozen in a blissful expression and he would have opened his mouth and gloated if he didn’t feel like he was going to unravel.

He grimaces, buries his head into her shoulder, tensing up inside her - pistons faster, digging his troublesome knees into the mattress. Her sweat tastes salty and her scent his intoxicating.

He slows down, momentarily, when he feels her moving again, drawing her toes along the back of his calves and thighs. She caresses his hair, fingernails lightly scratching up and down his scalp – an action he would never have pegged for vaguely erogenous and yet here is – balls deep ready to come.

He nearly ejaculates when her hips and knees fold back so that he’s bottomed out. He grabs both her calves, bites down on his lip and rams into her faster.

It’s all there, the sound of his skin slapping against hers, the quiet gasps she makes as he rocks himself. His head feels like someone stuffed it with bricks – seems like an effort to lift it so that he can look at her. His vision is blurry, white light surrounding around the edges of everything – but – he can see she’s watching him, with big, happy smile – teeth, dimples and all.

Mike widens his thighs just as he feels it. He laughs and shakes his head, reaching down to kiss her. They’re both shaking so much that it’s a mere simple brush of lips. He throws his head back, groaning loudly, an intense pulsatile throb consumes his entire lower body before that painfully sweet reprieve washes over him.

He bumps his head into her forehead, feeling his hot thick release pump inside her.

He may as well hit the five hundredth home run of his career – he knows, it can’t be better than this. 

 

 

 

 

“That’s not healthy.” He comments, panning through the player’s videos on his iPad.

She’s watching a discussion between his ex-wife and two other female TV personalities, lying against his chest, nestled in his lap as she flips the channels. Mike uses the time to review the hitters of their upcoming game with the Cubs.

The sun sets, colouring everything in the room with rays of orange and purple. It feels peaceful to just be like this, having this intimate proximity. Even if they’re lazing around, doing nothing.

The younger of the two guest hosts says: _“It’s just a reflection of how obsessive compulsive we have become as a society. There’s a need to document our every intimate moment and shout it out on the streets just to prove we’re better than the other sad lonely suckers out there.”_

The older of the two guests on Rachel’s show looks at the camera and says. “ _We get it, Ginny Baker, you wanted to spice up your sex life. But taking naked pictures is irresponsible. Especially when you’re the only woman on a baseball field full of men. It gives traction to all the misconceptions about women. It’s not fair to the rest of us.”_

Rachel adds fuel to the fire. _“Y’know I think, a lot celebrities, like to hide under the guise of being human when they do things like this. Ginny Baker said it herself – she makes a statement just by existing. I think we all expected better behaviour than this. I hope it’s something she takes to heart for the future._ ”   

She sighs and flips the TV the bird. Mike chuckles and reaches for the remote. She extends her arm out of reach.

“This won’t help you, Baker.” He says, pointing to his ex-wife. “I was married to _that_ …I know. She’s a like a dog with a bone. She’s going to go on and on…”

She switches it off abruptly and looks up at him, patting at her stomach.

He smiles at her and shakes his head. She sighs out loud and reaches for the phone. _But I missed breakfast._

“We just ate lunch an hour ago.” Mike says, laughing. “Geez!”

_We also fucked like rabbits after. It makes me hungry._

“Ugh! You’re exhausting.” He says, ducking to kiss her head. “Give me another ten and I’ll make you a grilled cheese.”

She nods, then coughs, wincing and rubbing her throat.

“Are we ready to go to the doc now?” He says, looking at her in frustration.

She makes a pouty face, curling in his lap and hugging his stomach.

He’s going to take that as a no.

“Ginny.” He said, stroking her hair.

Her elbow digs into his side as she types. _I’ll survive this. I’ve faced a lot worse._

He knows what she’s implying.

“I know you will.”

She nuzzles her nose into his shirt.

“This doesn’t have to define you.” He says, patting her head. “You don’t let it define you.”

She rests her chin on his stomach, looking up at him, rubbing her nose in his shirt, every now and then. Mike just watches her, smiling fondly whenever she does that little gesture.

 _What about us?_ She types, after a long time.

He sighs out loud.

_I’m not a clingy person. You don’t owe me anything. I’m not looking for anything._

“What if I am?” He says, looking down at her sadly.

Her eyes widen and she sits up.

“You don’t owe me, anything.” He says, patting her thigh. “But – this –“ He breaks off and sighs, unable to word it correctly. “You are important to me.” He says, after a long pause. “This wasn’t casual for me. We’re teammates first, friends next – but, after that….”

He doesn’t tell her he loves her, because he knows she’s no ready to hear it.

She nods.

“It’s a snafu, sure.” He says. “You need to know, you’re not obligated.”

 _I don’t know how I feel about this._ She looks up at him and wags her index between them. Us, she mouths.

“Which is okay.” He says, after he looks at the phone. “We don’t have to overthink what this is or might be.”

_I liked it. I don’t want to say that it was a mistake. I knew what I was doing._

“Believe me,” He says, feeling some relief when he reads her words. He looks up at her, gives her a meaningful look. “I understand.”

She nods.

“We keep this between ourselves.” He says. “I’m not going to trivialize it by calling it just sex.  I don’t regret this, Baker…it was special. To me at least.”

She nods and pats her chest as if to say: To me, as well.

“It’s too complicated for us to be together now. Even hooking up…it’s just…” He sighs, feeling a wave of anxiety hitting him in the chest.

She nods, keeping her head bowed.

Mike sighs and smiles and her. Then he mentally places a hand on his heart, weighing down metaphorically, saying what he hates to say. “I  - think you should have some sort of life. Try dating other people – at least until….”

She looks at him expectantly.

Until? She mouths, when he does not complete.

“Until I can ask you out – “ He says. “When it won’t seem so bad for a great gal like you to date an aging fuck like me.”

She shakes her head at him sadly, leans forward and strokes his beard.

“And, if we’re not meant to be…” He shrugs, grabbing her hand to kiss it. “…then at least I won’t be a public millstone around your neck.”

She shakes her head, vehemently and furiously types. _How can you say that? You’ll never be a millstone for me._

“Maybe - if you find someone you actually like.” He says, cocking his head at her. “Someone who treats with respect and the love you deserve…I – I don’t know if I could ever be the guy who deserves you, Gin…and not just because you’re Ginny Baker, first female MLB player. It’s – you’re amazing. You melt me.”

Her eyes moisten. He leans forward and kisses her lips. It’s a soft, chaste kiss.

Her lip quivers, making his heart wrench.

“This game is hard enough, as it is.”  He says. “This life is hard. I’m not even talking about all the celebrity and public attention. I’ve seen it do the worst possible things to the most promising players and their loved ones.” He sighs. “I lost a lot myself, to professional baseball, Gin. And I don’t regret it, but there are things I always wish I’d done differently. I don’t want to be standing, ten years down the line, having that same feeling about you. I can’t lose _you_ to this life.”

A lone tear rolls down her cheek. Mike wipes it off with the pad of his thumb.

“The only way I see us being together is if we don’t play for the same team…and I would hate not having to see that…” He pinches her chin. “…that face of yours. You’re the best thing about my day.”

She types something and sticks the phone in his face. _You’ve been part of my life for as long as I can remember._

He sighs and nods.

_You’re right. It is too complicated._

“You’re bigger than me, now.” He says, resignedly. “You’re bigger than everything. And you’re going places, Baker. Places, for which you can’t be tied down to me.”

She bites her lip and nods. Then types.  _Can you promise me something?_

“Sure.”

_Promise me you’ll call._

He frowns. “Like – at night?”

She shakes her head. _When you think there’s a time for us. You’ll call me._

Mike looks at her feeling thunderstruck.

She bends her head and types for a while, then shows him the screen. _Ever since I went pro,_ _a lot of decisions have been taken away from me. People have made sacrifices for me that I’ve never asked them to make in the first place.  I just don’t want to have that one decision taken away from me. I want to have a choice in the matter. I don’t want a potential future with you to be martyred, without me at least having a say in it._

Mike looks up at her, eye brimming with emotion. “You mean that?” He says, voice choking.

She nods and half-laughs, half-sobs. She sniffles a she types. _Even if I’m seeing someone…even if it seems like I’m happy with them…even if it means I must make difficult decisions that I may not want to make. I’m not promising anything. Just…promise me you’ll let me know. Allow me the choice._

He grabs her face and kisses her hard. He grins wide and nods at her. “I promise.”

She swallows a sob and then sighs out loud. _Can you call Evelyn for me?_

He nods at her.

She pats her throat. _It hurts. I think I’m coming down with something. It’s better if she’s seen taking me to the doctor. Those vultures are gonna be everywhere._

“Okay,” He nods. “That sounds practical.”

He smiles at her affectionately. “Maybe you oughta crash at Blip’s till you feel better. We’ll talk to Al. You can take a few days off practice.”

She nods.

She sighs and falls back into her original position, resting her head against his chest. Mike looks down at her, filled with love.

God, keeping away from her is going to be hard. Maybe it’s going to kill him. But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t see it through.

“Okay.” He says, nudging her shoulder. “Enough serious talk. What do you wanna do after we eat?”

She suddenly gets an impish look and gropes him.

Mike yelps and drops the iPad. He grabs her hand and pushes it aside, fixing her wrist over her chest.

“No!” He says. He can’t even believe he’s actually saying it but, they’ve pretty much pushed the limit on the term ‘crying oneself hoarse.’

“No more sex.” He says. He fishes out the iPad that had fallen down the crevice of the couch. She frowns and reaches for the phone. _Why old man? Afraid you’ll pop a hip?_

“Hah hah.” He drawls. “I’ve rendered you speechless, rookie. Literally.”

She rolls her eyes and types. _Fuck you._

“Dare you to say that out loud.” He says, wiggling his eyebrows.

She opens her mouth and nothing but air whistles out, whatever little voice she had, she muted herself good thanks to a repertoire of orgasmic yelling.

Not that Mike feels poorly about that, no sir.

“It’s not your fault.” He says, tweaking her nose. “There’s a reason women find me irresistible, y’know. I mean, forget rocking your word, Baker. There was this one chick, we rented out a cabin out in Big Bear and I had her screaming for hours and hours…” He spurts into laughter when she jumps up and punches his arm.

She smacks his side when he doesn’t stop laughing, he slaps her bottom in response, massaging the spot he hit - because her ass is just too delicious.

She sighs and then falls back into his chest, keeping the phone resting over his pectorals and typing something before sticking it in his face.

_Thank you captain, may I have another?_

Mike drops the iPad, again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \---ooOOoo--  
> Hiding under the blanket of embarassment.  
> 8 pages of porn. yes. 
> 
> Epilogue to follow

**Author's Note:**

> Review? Pwetty pwease with a Bawson on top?


End file.
